The People with Wings
by Dixon Oriole
Summary: Just post G Rev. Honoring an unsteady, brief, but sincere alliance formed before the circumstances within BEGA spiraled out of control, Kai pays a new friend a visit. Consequently, he and Garland attempt to puzzle out where they now stand. Discontinued.
1. sincerity in violence

_Disclaimer:_ I take no credit whatsoever for any element of this piece pertaining to Beyblade: including characters, setting, etc, etc… It belongs, and rightfully so, to its creator – Aoki Takao.

The People with Wings

By: Dixon Oriole

A tall, slim blonde answered the door on his third knock. Her extremely long hair was bound in a high ponytail; a fray of bangs left loose to half-shield large, brown eyes. Those eyes were narrowed curiously at him, not exactly welcoming, but he didn't get a lot of welcoming in general. She gazed through the outer glass, and he gazed impassively back. Eventually the protective pane was allowed to open about two inches. "Hello."

He cracked a smile for the older girl's benefit and his probable best interests. "I'm here to see Gar—"

"I recognize you," she interrupted, scrutinizing stare flying up and down his lithe body before hovering over the tattoos that decorated the pale line of his jaw. "You're a beyblader. I've seen you in the newspaper." Satisfied with this conclusion, the young woman turned partially away, glancing inside the sunny, mute recesses of the large house she shared with two of her brothers.

He tried again, "Garland…"

She paused a moment, steadily smirked, and nodded. "He's home," here the female spent a time considering what to do about it, watching him as if to determine whether the somber lad was a danger or not. "Come on in," she finally stated, smooth voice resolute, and swung the second door wide for his well-deserved entry.

"Sorry about giving you a hard time; we get some weird visitors poking around here. I guess you're not a fan though, huh?" Garland's elder sister amicably continued, allowing the quiet youth to follow her graceful hips as she hoofed towards the training room across the cool, lightly painted building. "Don't answer that, I know you're not," she laughed dryly, for whatever reason finding that quite the joke. Maybe they did get some strange visitors after all.

But he wasn't strange. This was merely the first instance of he and Garland meeting on either's designated turf, and it had taken him a time just to agree – but he'd prepared, and when confronted by the overbearing sibling, had not felt immediately uncomfortable. In all actuality the blader was about as at ease as he was ever capable of being… He found something about the home – all open windows and decks and cool air and cleanliness – agreeable.

It was still a relief when she said he didn't have to reply. No quick thinking would have made whatever he came up with even a little polite, conversation hardly his forte. Nevertheless, she deserved something more than the most rudimentary –

"Here we are," the girl broke into his thought process once again, spinning on heel and presenting with an outstretched arm another closed door, this one penitentiary gray in color.

"Oh…" He looked warily at the expectant scene, "Thank you," and reached for the brushed steel knob, feeling the mechanism within relent to his grip and offer a business-like click.

"No problem. Garland was inside beating stuff up the last time I saw him, and once he goes in there – well, he doesn't come out fast. It'll do him good to have some company." The sister beamed at him impishly and began to move off down the hallway, hair swaying behind like a silken banner. "If you need anything, just _ask_. My name's Kylie." And she was gone.

The teenager waited for a reinstated silence to become complete, rocking on his heels as if to test whether the carpeted floor had any undesirable creeks. Finally it was time, and he casually slid inwards through a gap that a bulkier boy could not have managed. It took but a moment to absorb the entirety of Garland's training chamber: a wide, bright space stocked with the usual muscle building mechanisms and martial arts accessories…

And of course the beydish. Usual, shining red, resting in the corner without a speck of dust stationary upon it. He found it hard to believe that the thing could withstand its owner's impressive power when at work. Speaking of the proprietor, his location remained something of a mystery. Apparently someone had been about at recent, what with the slowly spinning punching bag (200 pounds, perhaps) and sweaty hand-towel discarded on a very geometric end table (sitting next to the equally mathematical sofa, against the wall opposite the mirrors).

The visitor stared at himself in the glass a moment before settling to lean against the doorframe and allow his garnet eyes to slide shut. As sight receded, sound began to make up the difference, alerting him to the quiet, but unmistakable hiss of running water from another room off to the side and the shift of two moving feet. There was a slight intake of breath in either pain or surprise from the other living individual, and he quickly readied for the immediate flinging open of the bathroom by shoving off of his resting place and squaring strong shoulders. It was much like expecting a blow.

Predictably, Garland made his appearance, looking not directly at the other person but instead around the training area, almost as though he'd misplaced something. His right hand busily wrapped the left in white tape, creating the characteristic look of a street fighter or boxer on this young blader. It wasn't an unjustified image.

"Have you seen my…" the lightly accented words rolled, forgoing all formal salutation, and yet the statement never concluded – for quickly, Garland realized his "friend" could not have been there long, and so could not know a damn thing. An inappropriate question. Meeting the narrowed gaze of the other with an air of stifled amusement, he began again, "Kai. Spar with me," and still did not include any usual greeting.

"Why?" the younger, shorter boy he'd addressed warily answered, taking note of the C-Bolt youngest's already bruised fists.

"Why not? I've been a fighter for as long as I've been a beyblader – I can tell who can handle themselves and who can't," stiff fingers raked through long, light blue locks, before busily tying them up into a ponytail not unlike his older sister's, "so you should trust my assessments. You'll lose… but that's no reason not to spar with me. Maybe you'll _learn_ something." The fingers flexed, egging on circulation.

Kai was not watching the subtle smile crackle over the stern lips of his concomitant, having instead taken on that bored air of old, and it did not permit him to humor the inconsequential surroundings. His eyes had closed, he was leaning. "Tyson really did change you, didn't he? The Garland I knew before that fight wouldn't speak so lightly of failure," a soft, incredulous snort, "We had that in common."

"You're afraid!" the Apollon bearer triumphantly accused, brown eye's alight with mischievous intent as he swabbed the back of his neck with the recently reacquired hand towel. "I guess your judgment for it at present is commendable. The Kai _I_ knew wouldn't have thrown any caution to the wind when facing indomitable obstacles."

"Indomitable? You know, Garland, you've said I couldn't do things before. And… I went and did them anyway. What does that say about _your_ judgment?" It would have been simple to overlook the humor inflecting the phoenix bearer's monotone.

"Ha. So come on then, try me." The muscular boy backed steadily away into the clearer area of the training room onto a floor mat that would more or less buffer hard falls. He slid easily into a fighting stance and began to playfully shift his weight from bare foot to bare foot, waiting for the shorter teenager across the room to respond positively.

"I don't see the point," the young Hiwitari sullenly explained. "I'll just end up hurting you, you'll get mad, and I'll get mad, and then I'll leave." He painstakingly shrugged, having long since come to terms with the fact that that exact cycle of events was how his existence worked… from sparring to beyblading to living.

"You can't hurt me," Garland firmly reassured, pausing in his dance to throw the towel on his shoulder out of the way and take two steps towards Kai, mouth twitching with a barely contained simper. "And you won't leave mad, I promise," he added as something of a compassionate afterthought.

The characteristic, ruddy glare of the boy at the wall probed the other's smooth composure for some time, seeking cracks on the surface that spoke of lies. Yet he found none, and so offered a bemused sigh, carefully unwrapping and dropping the long white scarf protecting his neck to the floor at his feet. It audibly thunked, being woven with lead, and was soon stifled by the untidy clothes of Kai's jacket, gloves, and socks as the teenager methodically stripped to his more flexible layers.

"Changed your mind?" Garland crooned, circling gracefully as his compatriot casually padded out onto the mat to meet him, placing himself squarely in no visible fighting stance, inviting the gryphon bearer to take the first move.

"I want to see if you were telling the truth," the Hiwitari stated evenly.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ Pointless. But if I wished to continue it, it would need a plot. As I've said and will continue to say, I can't do plot. 

Regardless, I like the finished product. It was spurned, I suppose, from watching the Kai-Garland interaction in BEGA, before the tournament and before he had his ass handed to him by Brooklyn. They weren't on such terrible terms then, and I don't think those terms could have been any worse afterwards.

I wonder what would happen if Kai ran into Brooklyn, considering he's living in that house with Garland these days? How explosive. And now, as I remember the title, seems like an easy task to involve Brooklyn in this venture... though I was only referring to Suzaku and Appolon (who can be classified as a gryphon, I expect). Uhg, have I set myself up?

Oh, as a last note, if you aren't aware, Kylie is actually one of Garland's sisters. The younger of the two, I think – the tennis player or the golfer… he mentions her in one episode. The blonde versus blue hair in their family must be a sex-linked gene, don't you think?


	2. take and give

_Chapter Two: Take and Give_

Garland was not a talkative fighter, which suited his opponent just fine – hardly talkative in _any_ situation. Instead, he was thoughtful to a fault, waiting so long with a solemn, open-handed mannerism that Kai in fact grew bored, rolled his eyes, and took the initiative upon his self, attacking with a series of calm, measuring combinations. Both were careful not to be backed into a corner (in any sense of the phrase), both were mindful of body language and the telling glint of eyes sighting an opening, and both were, initially, evenly matched.

The elder in the fight continued his circling, taking a page from the book of a vulture warily scoping out fresh road kill, as Kai maintained a steady position in the center of the room, blank stare following the taller sparring partner's every move, shifting to keep his left shoulder more or less perpendicular to Garland's chest at all times in an attempt at narrowing the already effectively narrow target his body presented, unless some daring dive foreword put them temporarily at the edge, which did occasionally occur if one or the other noted an opportunity for as much. Several minutes into the fight and the two young men continued to feel each other out.

This was entirely the fault of neither wishing to give up the edge of mystery first – they had not, in all of their experience observing one another, seen the full extent of measurable power. It was a slow, quiet push and pull for authority, power, domination. It was about waiting for the right moment, and the youngest C-Bolt, for one, lived by just such a philosophy. Kai did not. He _made _the right moments. He forced victory. He forced hands, and it was not going to be any different this time. Garland was nothing but another mediocre challenger.

Kai stepped swiftly ahead, planting his left foot hard into the floor and feinting what might have been a roundhouse kick into the other's skull, attempting to prod his instinctive reply: raise the arm, block the kick that would not come – it was successful: Garland, for a moment or so, left his solar plexus open, and as the phoenix bearer was already propelled foreword and turning, Kai drew his right arm back, slammed his right heel to earth for a much-needed recovery of balance, and drove the elbow of said arm in a breath-taking slam towards his opponent's stomach.

However, the problem with a moment or so is that a skillful fighter (Garland was about as well-trained as he looked) knows how to fill it. His free hand shot downwards and painfully diverted the elbow away from its mark as the wayward kick-blocking arm simultaneously shifted into a left-hook aimed for the back of Kai's head, every inch of superior height utilized. He gave his customary startling yelp (which, by this time, didn't startle anybody), power-point for a crushing blow, fist rapidly approaching black hair, flying narrowly past black hair, missing a shoulder by a hair's breadth, and pulling him straight down to a knee with the force of momentum.

Garland barely prevented his avoided attack from colliding with the mat (his hands had already hurt to begin with…) and, while rising to his feet, frantically sought the form of Kai with a sharply narrowed gaze – it was found turning to face him about a yard away to the right, pulling quickly out of the crouch he'd assumed when throwing himself past and out of the way of the punch. Garland stood perpendicular, and, not missing a beat or his supposed opening, Kai planted his left foot once again and let fly an _actual _roundhouse.

The pony-tailed foreigner's chestnut eyes widened, feeling the too-close brush of air across his face as he dived to the front-right and around the expertly turned foot, coming to a standstill on the other side of it as Kai was forced to follow through with his _own_ evaded hit. Garland, noting the necessity of tacking his partner down somehow, lest he continue to dodge things and tire them both, expertly swept the shorter boy's planted leg out from underneath him before he was completely steady and while he was still turned away – it had been but a second of perfect circumstance, but all Garland had needed.

Kai went down like a rock on his left hip and hastily placed forearm, snarling something unintelligible in surprise and anger. The professionally trained elder was just about to follow him to the ground and put a lock on his dangerous limbs when Kai flipped onto his back, well sick of not having an eye on "the enemy". Caught up in a vicious glare abruptly sent his direction, Garland hesitated momentarily – and then registered pain shooting through his kneecaps when the other's swinging right leg caught them from behind and dragged him (in not at all the purposeful way he'd had planned) to the mat. Hard.

He hissed through clenched teeth, in no position to argue the fact that the Hiwitari was rapidly scrambling out of range and regaining two feet, much more interested in doing likewise. In the time it took to blink fully, both of the fighters were back to their usual tactics of circling and eyeing, though the silence was rather more apprehensive than how it had begun, and each had a noticeable limp – however commendably they attempted to conceal them.

The gryphon bearer, frustrated that Kai was slipping out of his grip at every turn, turned his concentration fully to forming some strategy that might keep him _still_ long enough to hit. His best bet was the fact that for split-seconds at a time, the other had shown him his back, the most careless thing one could do in a fight, unless it had a use – he was almost certain the cases had been accidental, however, and wished to take advantage of some tiny snippet of experience that Kai had _not _managed to acquire just yet. As usual, he was going to wait for a mistake, for the blue-tattooed teenager to dig his own grave. All Garland had to do was give him a little push.

Kai, true to his nature, was again on the offensive, peppering the elder with liberal amounts of hand and foot strikes, each deftly engineered, each carefully blocked as they neared their marks. Garland had since gathered that Kai lacked a definitive style and was obviously not trained in any sort of discipline, as he'd been – but rather, it was a ragtag, opportunistic mix one tends to find on the street, filled with brutal attacks and narrow escapes, every decision driven by instinct… and it worked for him. It was nothing short of exactly what Garland had expected of the fire-blader; he'd mainly been curious about the part-Russian's reactions to pain, having witnessed how he _dealt _with it during beybattles –

As an experiment, while, for the first time both of the other's arms were occupied staving off a diversionary jumping front-kick, Garland re-routed his energy into punching him in the face. It was pulled, perhaps, just in time, but Kai was nevertheless sent reeling back a few paces, head bowed and tilted slightly to the side. When his garnet gaze appeared again through the shadow of long bangs, it was harsh, icy, and laughing. "That didn't hurt at all," Kai stated, dead-pan, the barest of smiles playing across his lips. A vicious red mark had begun to spread across one of his cheekbones.

Garland was impressed – had his fist hit the jaw, where he'd aimed, the other blader could very well have been knocked out cold. Instead, Kai had leant in to cut off the limb's full extension and sought to divert it to his forehead where the blow could be absorbed for minimal damage… The last tactic had partially failed, but that was to be expected, considering the absolutely minute time span he'd possessed to implement it within. "I'm not trying to kill you, Kai," Garland explained, voice wondering and utterly affable as he paced back and forth, aching knees silently popping with each shift of weight.

The Hiwitari took a few measured breaths, fists loosening somewhat at his sides and then re-tightening with added vigor. "That's why you'll lose," he murmured, having looked away to his opponent's moving feet. While Garland busied himself considering this declaration, deeply shell-shocked, Kai stewed in irritation and impatience. He was used to blowing people out of the water. This was taking too long. It had to end quickly, before he ran out of energy and had to draw it from… something else. As the older boy played it defensively, Kai had not been able to find it within himself to do the same – consequently, his endless attacks were beginning to take their toll.

No matter. A single, good, clean hit hidden among a flurry of others, and he'd win. Garland's nerves were failing him… it was clear on his face. He didn't like being avoided – when he actually decided to attack, it was under the impression that it would only _take_ that _one _attack. In this little sparring match, his carefully measured killing strikes had proven meaningless time and again. Kai was not such an idealist. He tended to grow annoyed as things of this sort dragged on, but was willing to do all it took to beat the enemy down to size. Grind them to dust, if needed. Relying on perfect calculation – however much a testament to his opponent's superb education in several forms of martial arts and, conceivably, some kind of boxing – was stupid against somebody as comparatively erratic as Kai; Garland would just have to be taught the hard way.

"Ah, Kai, you're –" the other began, almost ready to voice his preconceived concern after the phoenix bearer's questionable state of mind, but was near instantly cut off – drawing in a surprised gasp as the slate-haired teen in question literally flung himself onto his opponent, barrel-driving him into the suddenly not-so-cushy flooring and scrambling in such an extremely haphazard series of movements that Garland was instantly reminded of a rabid fan that had attacked him at an expo once, and began to fear the younger teenager had gone insane in like fashion… The "scrambling" ended up with Kai's already bruised right elbow jammed heavily (though not deadly-heavily) into the base of the gryphon bearer's throat, and his prostrate form (rather more weighty than it looked, considering the pounds of muscle he'd been adding to a perpetually, deceptively lean frame as of late) stretched across Garland's, one leg drawn up to tack his captive's left arm to the floor, Kai's free hand doing the same to his right.

Garland stared at the ceiling for a second or two, fully embarrassed that he'd been lulled into a false sense of security, or been distracted by simple (however odd) dialogue, or _something_… embarrassed that he'd allowed himself to be barrel-driven-and-strangely-pinned-like-some-common-schoolboy-in-a-parkinglot-fight… But really, how in the hell did you guard against chaos? He was not trained to deal with that. Apparently Kai had noticed and decided to act upon it.

Finding his predicament uncomfortable and vulnerable, it took the blue-haired, brown-eyed C-Bolt no longer to take action towards the desired end of freeing himself. This merely involved shifting his hand-held right arm sharply back until it was possible to yank it (very painfully) towards Kai's thumb and so out of the grip – here Kai lost his precarious balance, as a great deal of weight had been resting on that now unsettled anchor, and was forced to shift himself heavily left, collapsing fully across the other boy with a muffled "umph", rather than right, in which case he'd have crushed Garland's windpipe with his elbow. Maybe some tiny part of him showed mercy after all.

It was then only a matter of sitting up (groaning with the effort) and shoving Kai forcefully to remove his bony knee from Garland's other pinned arm. Now possessing the ability to move, however ungracefully he'd re-obtained it, Garland rubbed his positively throbbing left shoulder and glared at the younger blader as he dragged himself slowly on hands and knees off of the gryphon bearer's outstretched legs. Kai settled himself a few feet off, also sitting up, and eventually chanced a distasteful (though furtively triumphant) look at Apollon's owner, willing to wait until he recovered before they resumed their fight.

"Kai, you're… you were right. There's no point to this if you're just going to exhaust yourself. It was nothing but a joke, man," Garland quietly admonished, well aware that half the reason he'd been taken off-guard was that he was expecting something, frankly, slower from Kai. The sweat beading across the Russian's pale skin hadn't gone unnoticed, and in all of his experience when sparring, blading, against _anybody_, there existed this sensibility of pacing yourself once you'd become tired – trying _not_ to burn out. He had certainly not been waiting for some very energetic desperation attack; though, and given, it was an undoubtedly clever move to make.

The Hiwitari, for his part, had not been expecting such _words_ as this. He searched Garland's stolid face for a time, half-sneering, before forming his slow and nigh' exasperated reply: "So what, you're throwing in the towel? I'm not the one panting like some sort of dog, Garland." Sure, he was a little worn around the edges… but he could take it. There was absolutely no reason for this young man with the strange older sister to worry about anyone but himself. Kai felt absolutely no shame for his sweat – the C-Bolt blader looked completely unsettled by his sudden tackle, and _that _was something to be ashamed of. Being taken by surprise… psh.

"Now you're just being stubborn, for somebody who didn't want to go in the first place," Garland firmly said, gaze rolled upwards in theatrical annoyance. "This is _not _a life or death situation. I should never have asked you," he added, picking at the rubber band that had snapped at some point during their little game and become tangled in his now partially loose hair.

"No, you probably shouldn't have," Kai eagerly, angrily agreed, able to tell that Garland didn't intend to finish their fight – if it was because he felt _sorry_ for him… How dare some easily manipulated, second-rate blader presume to pity Kai Hiwitari!

An absolute, irate silence settled between them as Garland pretended to be occupied with his hair and examining the bruises that were beginning to appear, mind turned to how badly his silly little request made not ten minutes prior had already ended – and here he'd promised Kai he wouldn't be leaving mad. He was obviously _mad_. Well, there was nothing for it. Kai would just have to stay until he _wasn't _pissed then, wouldn't he? Not that he would be made to stay, not that Garland had any motivation to deal with a ticked off Kai… he absolutely did not. Looking up, the older teenager caught the reflected stare of the shorter, despondent boy in the mirrored wall, as he'd previously turned towards it and apparently been looking over his bluish-red marked cheekbone with an expression of total disinterest.

"Why do you have to take everything so seriously?" the former BEGA captain sighed, genuinely wanting to know.

The former BBA captain did not sigh, though he noiselessly exhaled and ran a hand shaking with adrenalin-charged nerves through his untidy mop of hair. For a few moments he toyed with the option of remaining absolutely silent, but, in the end: "There are some people… I still have to prove myself, that's all." He didn't care if Garland understood or not.

"You don't have to prove anything to _me_," followed the thoughtful, definitive reply, paired with the elder's furrowed brow and slight, quizzical frown. The young Hiwitari said nothing to that for so long that Garland couldn't help but continue on his own. "Kai, like you said, you showed me wrong when you did the impossible before – when you took down Brooklyn." He watched closely for the effects that name in particular might have…

"_That _was never impossible," Dranzer's owner eventually growled, jaw clenching and unclenching in the only outward show of his inwardly waning patience.

"…All the same, I know you're tough – tougher than me, maybe, at least in the dish. I guess people really do fight like they blade, huh? You'll do anything to win – and I, heh, I just hoped you'd cool it a little," Garland attempted, to the best of his ability, to calm Kai down, sensing that getting testy at him in return was definitely not the way to go. It had been obvious from their first meeting onward that successful dealing with the socially impaired Hiwitari took caution, understanding, and… finesse. "So lighten up. I know you're tough," Garland smiled slightly, beginning to stand.

"I didn't mean prove myself to people like you. I meant to me. I like to prove to… that I can do things. I like to know that nothing is impossible," Kai admitted after a drawn out pause, finding it difficult to express exactly what he meant, but, for some unknown reason, confident that Garland could draw his own conclusions without a great deal of assistance. He too stiffly stood up, turning a wary eye towards the other side of the room when there was a light knock on the door through which he'd entered, one part relieved that somebody's interruption would prevent his sparring partner from acknowledging the too-much information Kai had just given him, the other part still annoyed that they weren't finishing the fight until he'd thoroughly won it.

_

* * *

__Author's Notes: _You realize I'm only doing this because you people wanted me to, right? 

It took a long time to decide on their fighting styles – and yeah, I know they came out a real random mess, but what do you _want _from me? I have absolutely no idea what form of martial arts Garland was going on about, and, though I attempted to find out – such efforts proved fruitless and I got sick of trying. How they fight was pretty much based on how they blade: for example, Garland spending half of his time analyzing the opponent before taking them out with the minimum of effort…

I don't traditionally go for the physically impossible stuff, but realize it was probably confusing regardless. I'm sorry, but couldn't avoid it. It's difficult sometimes to effectively express what one is imagining in words.

I'm having a hard time with Garland, and hope he seems enough in character to you guys. I'm highly suspicious of the way he's acting, you know. I never found him particularly caring towards Kai, per se, but he _is awfully _understanding and, I donno, intuitive when it comes to other people.

I like the hurtful opinions Kai reveals he has of people when he's angry.

It's 3 AM as I write this, and I am very tired. Would have involved more stuff in that fight, but it was getting long and I was getting weary. I've always been more interested in dialogue and characterization anyway. Oh God, is Kai talking too much? I'll need to quiet him a little.

I _knew _I was setting myself up. And it's still too early for Brooklyn, though, I… I guess he'll be in as soon as I figure out a graceful way to go about it. Yeah, he'll… be there. It's just too convenient for Kai to visit Garland's house and _not _run into all the residents, isn't it? Kylie will be back soon too. I wouldn't have involved her so heavily in the first place if she wasn't returning. Yup, she's a plot device.

Forget Kai, I need to quiet _myself _a little.

Ciao.


	3. flight or fight

_Chapter Three: Flight or Fight_

The knocks were nothing – awaiting no reply, needing none, mere habitual politeness. Thus, it was no surprise to either of the fighters present that the door swung smoothly inwards the moment they had ceased. Kai had, for most of his life, worked towards expecting nothing, weary with scorning himself for the same weakness Garland had recently displayed by being caught off guard; and yet, he could not have said that he expected what appeared in that sunny frame, one of its hands casually fingering the doorknob, the other gingerly enclosing a recently acquired spray of lavender. For the phoenix bearer in question, world-shaking surprise characterized itself as a deafening, white-noise buzz in his ears.

It prevented him from hearing, let alone understanding, the soothing (warning) things that Garland apparently said – "Now, Kai…" – though some alert section of his brain registered slowly moving lips in the mirror's reflection at his sight's periphery. He did not care what the C-Bolt siblings had to say just then (neither had it escaped the young Hiwitari's cultivated attention that the blonde, the sister, Kylie, was sliding uneasily past the other frozen visitor, the antagonist, the monster, with a pensive expression twisting her pretty-in-passing face and just the right amount of sweat and flush about her person to make it clear she'd been exerting herself, maybe come to oversee the proceedings – "Um, Garland..?"), in favor of caring about the burning little animal that had been sleeping somewhere between his stomach and throat until that very moment, when it had stirred, decided to open its great mouth, and begun to buzz.

The aforementioned alert section of Kai Hiwitari's brain was having a good time of observing what the other part was doing, well aware that it would be overtaken by some throw of passion or other in short order and wishing to get as much objective information in as little time as possible for the purpose of later analysis at a more agreeable opportunity – for now, as in fights, his primary functions would recede to the instinctual level. That was generally how the teenager's head worked, when his self-control and nerve were abruptly put under incredible stress. Not many _adults_ would have known how they acted in such situations… and here was Kai, already an expert by necessity and through experience. Lucky him.

Garland stared across at his sister for a brief moment, and, understanding the wordless signal that he'd most definitely be needing backup, she sidled through the doorway, rigid with worry but sharp-eyed and tight-jawed in a kind of undeniable grace. Kylie positioned her thin, powerfully present form half-between the two boys that were causing such silent chaos, ready to become a bodyguard if there was a need. At the same time her little brother was shifting quietly into position behind the stalk-still blader he had recently been tangled on the floor with, making himself ready to lock Kai in a full-Nelson or knock him off his feet again. Anything, to prevent the kind of physical upheaval the tense air told him was probably coming.

The singularly secretive process took no more than a breath's-time to accomplish, in which Garland continued saying unintelligible, comforting things that none but his sister comprehended, as though whispering into the face of a wild-eyed horse, full of the grim knowledge that he could be thoroughly trampled at any time. His words were addressed to Kai – who gave him absolutely no indication that they were having any effect, remaining as stony-faced and narrow-eyed as the second the door had swung innocently inwards – rather because he couldn't think of a single thing to remedy the manner of the young man that had so unwittingly caused the scene; shock and stirring rage, at least, were things he could fathom. However, it seemed not to be working: if anything, Kai's lasting opportunity to mull over the situation uninterrupted served to intensify his more undesirable reactions…

Garland thought, watching the boy's suddenly authoritative profile in the mirror, the back of his proud head and tense shoulders, and the faces of the two others in rapid turn, that his guest was running out of things to decide before settling on a murderous launch towards the doorway. He doubted his older sister would stand much of an obstacle, though she looked as stubborn and defiant as he might have hoped – Kai was, unfortunately, oblivious to such things as "powerfully present" acquaintances at the time, and the youngest C-Bolt beyblader doubted the extent of his chivalry.

"Sorry about this, Gar, he was just kind of walking in – I only remembered it might be a problem half a second ago, so, you know…"

"Don't worry about it; watching over Brooklyn is not your responsibility, it's mine. Kai? You in there, man, haven't been knocked unconscious without me knowing, have you..? Snap out of it. Brooke, you alright?"

The tall, auburn-haired figure the gryphon bearer placed a gentle, but scrutinizing gaze upon at that moment did not reply immediately. His reaction was even more stunted than Kai's; he had tapped on the door, as usual, taken half a step inside, as usual, smiled gently, brightly as usual, soft cerulean gaze trailing about the room from ceiling downwards before zeroing in on his best friend, flickering once again to the out-of-place pile of dark clothing and scarf, widening by steady fractions as it followed an extra shadow on the mat to pale, bare feet, flashing with something imperceptible as it slowly absorbed the sight of an attached body, and landing, with an obvious, tiny jerk of his head on the deepening stare of a confounding figure that had played a prominent role in his more troubled dreams as of late. Brooklyn's expression, calm simper and all, as well as his entirely languid stance, had utterly frozen, though his skin appeared to be quickly draining of pigment; the only movement was in his eyes.

These twitched, rapid-fire back and forth between both of Kai's, as though hoping to identify some kind of incongruence in the drawn, continually intensifying stare turned glare he was on the receiving end of, and then, unable to find any, progressed to imploring glances at Garland. When he spoke, his voice was, from an outside perspective, quite normal (it caused Kai's probing look to narrow even further, now slit-like), but his proclaimed best friend and protector knew better… there was an undeniably pinched quality to it that one with a trained ear could register, the overall effect one of somebody that had just walked in on a surprise they hadn't been expecting and were somewhat horrified by – how accurate.

"Can _you_ see him?" the genius of the former BEGA league earnestly questioned, leveling an eye on the phoenix bearer, head jerking slightly once more. The fact that Garland had been speaking with the shortest boy present, which might have alluded that, yes, he could see him – was lost on Brooklyn in the same fashion that the words in the first place were lost on Kai.

It felt quite distinctly to Brooklyn as though the floor had fallen out from beneath him. He was at least breathing steadily… so far, and ridiculously thankful that Kylie was acting as a living barrier between him and that – that – Brooklyn wanted nothing more than to learn that he was seeing things. Perhaps sleepwalking. Perhaps sleeping altogether – he had a penchant for dozing off out on the grounds, and it would have been completely agreeable if he happened to awake somewhere on them now and have to meander back to the house all over again. This would prove a silly dream, really. Not even one of his worst. Then, should this be a dream, it would mean his medication was working nicely, wouldn't it? Just because Kai was standing in Garland's most-personal-of-spaces as though he'd actually been invited there, as though they'd really been having quite a bit of fun… When he'd entered, for half a moment, he could have sworn Garland was smiling ruefully. _Smiling_. He'd not be telling Garland about this dream in particular – it was simply too far-fetched.

The C-Bolt boy then did something impulsive, determined to crack this unbearable tension while it was premature before it exploded all by itself. He clapped a hand soundly on Kai's left shoulder. Brooklyn appeared to sink backwards, clutching onto the doorknob with new desperation, made to accept that Kai was, in fact, corporeal, Kylie half-turning in a swirl of long hair and with a tiny sound of dismay to grab him around the arms before he fully collapsed, and Kai… Kai seized Garland's wrist, that nearest his shoulder, with a vice-like right hand and fluidly swung him foreword, twisting the gryphon bearer's adjoined arm behind his back with enough force to loudly pop the shoulder. There Kai held Apollon's owner stationary, the victim's teeth gritted in pain, watching with a wild mixture of the disgust and fury waging war behind his garnet eyes as Kylie struggled to restrain a violently shifting Brooklyn, who was apparently torn between obeying his terror through flight – or acting upon his possessiveness through fight.

"Garland! What in the hell were you _thinking_! Eyaah – Brooke, Brooklyn, calm _down_!" the second youngest heir of the C-Bolt legacy loudly growled, casting her brother, in no position to lend her a hand, a completely withering stare that Kai's better side approved of, her visage now flushed beyond the excuse of the sport she'd been practicing before noting her red-head housemate strolling back to the house. Brooklyn had finally proved receptive to her demands, however, and reduced his flailing to a light, but unending full-body spasm, somehow now pinned against the hallway wall across from the open gray door by Kylie's insistent arms and one of her knees, emitting a low, quavering noise deep in his throat that spoke of a great deal of badly contained panic.

"Kai, let go of me," Garland angrily commanded, glaring back over his shoulder at the younger teenager as best he could, a cold sweat renewed along his brow, one itchy line dripping past his nose. Again, there was no instant reaction to his words; he could not be certain that there _would_ be one. Garland was attempting to exercise a degree of control he possessed over his teammates, had had over underlings in BEGA – but had never, _never _enjoyed over Kai. It seemed to him that the Hiwitari had some kind of intense loathing for being controlled… for reasons that would have to be gotten out of Tyson someday, if anywhere. Therefore, Garland had a few choices. He could both rip himself free and risk a serious fight with Kai – which he was not at all in the mood for making Brooklyn and Kylie witness, and would probably do lasting damage to their relationship – or appeal to a merciful nature he was not certain existed. Well… that conclusion might have been harsh, seeing as his judgment was skewed by the current state of affairs.

Either way, Garland did not plead. He requested. "Kai, I would like to help my sister," here his breath hitched involuntarily as the phoenix blader tightened his grip, "so can you please..?"

The Hiwitari, feeling suddenly out of his element and as though he was intruding into some kind of family dispute in which he really had no place, considered it. Finally, he complied (once certain that Garland's arm had to be cramping quite badly), and planted a shoving kick in the small of the C-Bolt blader's back while letting go of him. Truthfully, he did not think that if he made the young man _too _mad, he would actually explain just-what-in-the-hell he'd been thinking, and Kai _certainly _wanted to know. Garland stumbled ahead, regaining his balance and rubbing his shoulder as he went, muttering some grudging thanks to Kai that was entirely undeserved.

The oldest, now freed, blader present kneeled in the doorframe, legs still hurting, and murmured in an undertone that Suzaku's guardian nevertheless keenly noted (the buzz had subsided as shock and the nausea of betrayal were overcome by the clarifying light of unadulterated rage), "I'm _sorry_, Kylie, you've got to know this isn't how I – I wouldn't… Brooklyn, hey… Brooklyn?" There was a pause punctured just by heavy breathing, and though Kai could not see it, Garland was considering the tear-glazed stare of his charge, who'd ceased moaning, mouth instead shut tight and trembling, body shaking with dry sobs. They had told Brooklyn he'd be safe in this house, with this family. Kai's friends had, strangely enough, assured him of just the same when he had expressed a small disinclination to leave his room, all those months ago, before the phoenix had returned to him. "Ky, I'm going to take him. Can you do me a favor? Uh, keep… keep Kai from leaving just yet, please? Don't look at me like that, sis. Brooke, let's get up, its fine now, you'll see."

Garland hoisted his eerily limp friend to his unsteady feet, staggering away down the hall with him as quickly as possible, easily prioritizing the aftermath of this particular disaster; he did not bother casting his former sparring partner a second look. Kai's brutal glower followed their progress even after he could not see them, as though boring through the wall was a simple matter, only ceasing to move when he hit the corner of the room and was certain they were gone.

"Let's – go have a drink, okay?" the voice of the young lady of the house suggested (yet in that same hard tone she'd used when convincing a hysterical Brooklyn to be still); admirably steady after a couple of bracing clearing-of-the-throats. Deliberately, Kai moved his gaze to land with the weight of vast weariness and loftiness onto her sadly innocent presence. Because she had committed no crime (besides that of letting him in and instigating this mess), Kai could not in good conscience let the teetering bucket above the door that was his anger come raining down atop her impatient head. But oh, oh how he wanted it to rain onto somebody. Gathering a sick amount of pleasure from Kylie's uncomfortable, unconscious shift on her feet, unused as she was to his particularly potent brand of death-glares, and, at the same time, chastened by her endearing refusal to back down and leave him to his own devices, Kai slowly, very slowly, gave a curt nod of assent. If there was anything the world-famous beyblader was skilled at by now, it was conjuring up impressive amounts of senseless rage whenever he wanted to (he was almost as good at stifling them again), so, once Garland showed his idiot face, Kai would be ready for him – but for now, Kylie could be humored. That was, if she treaded very carefully.

Following the young woman as she strode down the side of the hall they had come up when he'd first entered (the opposite way her brother and surrogate-brother had gone, the Hiwitari noticed), Kai glanced at the floor, caught sight of Brooklyn's forgotten sprig of lavender, and ground it violently into dust with his bare heel.

_

* * *

Author's Notes:_ Oh, the _drama. _

Garland really is a thoughtful little bugger, isn't he? And no, no, this is definitely not going to be a whole Kai and Kylie love affair – _thing_. I repeat: she is a plot device, a… objective figure, more or less, because God knows we need one.

This is pretty much as dense as my writing gets, so don't worry about progressively larger paragraphs. It appears to be what happens when I'm enjoying myself and aiming at a longer piece than just a – vignette, as originally intended. -cough-

My apologies for not showcasing too much of Brooklyn's usual personality – I was kind of on a roll with paying more attention to Kai, and Brooke is… strangely satisfying to write scared out of his mind. 'Sides, these wounds are still fresh.


	4. jetsam and flotsam

_Chapter Four: Jetsam and Flotsam_

When she'd mentioned drinks he had, perhaps foolishly, assumed hard liquor. It was only when Kai stood partially inside the kitchen (lingering near the wide doorway with open suspicion twisting his features), watching Garland's older sister as she gazed blankly at the contents of a frighteningly organized fridge – about as organized as Tyson's comparatively wasn't – and made no move towards a locked cupboard, that he remembered they were a family of professional athletes. He'd never known many fitness enthusiasts to keep a full alcohol cabinet. He'd never actually known many fitness enthusiasts, unless one was willing to count the former BioVolt soldiers and they… well, didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Closing his eyes briefly in an attempt at shoving all thoughts of Balcov Abbey and its denizens to the darkest recesses of his mind where they belonged, the young Hiwitari found himself instead concentrating on the subtle sounds around him. Before long he was listening quite hard – perhaps for heavy breathing or shrieks of fright or any such delicious proof that his presence in the house was still taking its toll.

Yet the large, neat building was wholly mute, the figurative deep inhalation before the scream; Kai had, upon entering, been at peace with the reticent atmosphere – the cool, airy, nonviolent brightness and the sense of constant circulation. Nevertheless, now it felt as though the house was a capricious individual in and of itself, intent on carelessly sucking intense emotion out through the many open windows, leaving behind a merely superficial harmony. Kai had only begun to loathe its asylum-like capability of buffering conflict when a soft breeze, heavy with the scents of lavender and sandalwood, drifted with hateful ease through one of the floor-length kitchen screens and, while passing into the hallway, ruffled his hair. The young man shuddered and looked up, attention directed onto his smoothly dissipating rage. He hadn't been ready to let it go yet – he'd been looking foreword to brooding longer still, steadily feeding the inferno with truths and justification as tinder. He hadn't been ready to let it go… not to face what he knew would be left behind: no more righteousness, no more clarity, but only exhaustion.

If Kai was not angry, he was generally concerned about something. At present his only concern was that when he needed to be (once Garland came back or he caught sight or sound of Brooklyn, for example), he wouldn't be angry _enough_. Something in the boy, maybe the old, tiredly alert bit of brain-matter, chimed in that nothing had been resolved, nothing had changed – when he needed the rage, it was always smoldering somewhere he could reach it. The numbing layer of ash blown in through the windows was thin; it would prove transparent when the time was right. With Kylie turning, facing him down, a dark glass pitcher of something in hand, grim thoughtfulness in her brown eyes, he knew the time wasn't right. Not just yet.

Kai was generally able to prevent an unacceptable amount of collateral damage while on the warpath – it began with keeping the innocent out of issues that didn't concern them. He had failed once or twice in the past, and had no desire the repeat the mistake this time around – Kylie would be made to mind her own business, all the better to keep her safe, whatever the light of curiosity and unsettling knowledge in her stare. The young woman opened her mouth as if to speak, but then, taking into account the phoenix blader's responsively furrowed brow and one-eyed leer, thought better of her ill-planned opening statement. She moved to the marble countertop, back turned to him, using the mindless functions of preparing two glasses as an excuse for a prolonged silence in which to kick her roiling emotions into submission.

"Do you want my opinion?" Kylie began, voice unnaturally light and diplomatic, slowly walking towards Kai in a roundabout route across the expansive kitchen. She didn't especially care if he wanted it because he was getting it either way. No one came into her house and made a wreck of the hard-earned balance (they'd finally gotten Brooklyn out into the public again! He had appeared _relatively _undamaged for weeks now!) and escaped without being confronted for it. The only reason she was not yelling was that the boy had come into their home without any prior knowledge of Brooklyn's residency. Part of her was afraid of Kai, truth be told – but if she had ever let fear stop her from acting, she would not have been a C-Bolt. Kylie unflinchingly deposited a full glass into the younger teen's calloused, scarred hand.

"I thought I was supposed to _ask_ if I needed anything from you," the blader airily replied, side-stepping the apparent wind tunnel the hallway created and putting a bit more space between him and the irate-looking female. There was a possibility that if he said something scathing she would leave him alone – which would be for her own damn good. There was also the very real possibility that she'd slap him for being as unresponsive as he wished to be… but Kai was not afraid of her. And even if he had been, it would not have stopped him from doing as he pleased; if fear had that kind of power over him, he'd not have been a Hiwitari. His grandfather hadn't humored cowards or weaklings; Kai had secretly and long since come to the conclusion that his crazed relative's liquor cabinet was perpetually full so that when _Voltaire _was a weakling and a coward, he wouldn't have to deal with it.

"Yeah, well, I give handouts sometimes," Kylie growled, grip white on her own cup, the liquid within sloshing about. "I think you're being a baby." She watched for Kai's inevitable self-defense, but, as his current strategy was to put her off her track, the young man swallowed his pride with a small, graceful sip of what was apparently lemonade. _Lemonade_. That seemed like such a Maxie kind of home-remedy for tension (that or a bar-be-que) that he was momentarily distracted and forced to redouble all efforts of controlling the stir of dislike for this outspoken sibling before he risked slipping up, likely to blurt something a bit too truthful that would end up embarrassing them both. The girl might think that she'd like to understand how he felt – about her brother, about that _thing_, Brooklyn – but she did not. She would wish he hadn't told her, if allowed to know. Kylie wasn't his enemy in this house, the blader wearily, firmly decided, and she wouldn't be let close enough to become one.

Her muddy glance narrowed, intent on his forcibly nonchalant countenance, and Kylie was gripped by the resolve to give this little boy a piece of her mind; he could just _listen_ for all she cared (the knowledge that Garland could later provide some insight into the Hiwitari's cracked head upon request was comforting). Now, to make sure he _was_ listening – she'd just have to keep insulting him. The baby thing had almost worked, hadn't it? "Listen, I know he almost killed you that one time, or something… but, Kai, it's in the past now," the blonde heaved a dramatic sigh, "are you really the type of guy to cling onto senseless grudges? Are you that petty? It was pathetic watching you back there. You _restrained_ Garland – he was no threat to you. Neither of them were."

Hating somebody that had done you great physical harm, made your best and closest friend explode in its own flames, and insulted you on a plethora of psychological and moral levels was petty? A _senseless _grudge? That was certainly news to Kai Hiwitari. In the past he hadn't had nearly as many reasons to hate a person, and still no one had argued with his sensibilities. Eyeing Kylie, feeling somewhat disgruntled towards her lack of tactfulness and uncertain what argument she was attempting to make, the slate-haired individual only answered with a far-off, wondering statement, "Almost killed me that time…" Averting his carmine eyes so that she wouldn't have any reasonable grasp of the thoughts running sluggishly through his mind, catching as they were on the old maze of brambles and thorns that tended to act as a shield between him, emotional overload, and loss of focus from day to day, Kai fought to stifle a disbelieving laugh. He was so used to absolute, untouchable authority whenever he chose to exercise it – and here was some girl from another world altogether who thought _she _knew better…

"Kai, Brooklyn is a good kid, whatever conclusions you might have drawn – I've lived with him, he's my little brother's best friend. I should _know_. He – just stands there and bunnies and crap walk right up to him…" Kylie felt a bit like she was reasoning with a brick wall and momentarily trailed off in the fruitless conquest. This boy she had allowed into the house despite retrospective warnings was frustrating; he was downright _incomprehensible_. So far neither being cross, blunt, politic, nor emphatic resulted in much more than a gradually developing sneer.

The Hiwitari, hell-bent on changing the subject before talk of Brooklyn's charms with fuzzy animals made him any more nauseous than he already was (or conjured up any more unsettling images of the cats Kai adored gravitating in the red-head's preferred direction), roused himself with an imperceptible shiver, met Kylie's dissecting eyes, and asked in a dull monotone, "You recognized me right away at the door, didn't you?" Kai was well aware that she hadn't thought he could be a fan – she'd known exactly who he was and hesitated in his presence for different reasons than he'd originally supposed. Obliviously the C-Bolt family had a running trend of manipulative liars as well as honor-obsessed athletes. Young Kai had conveniently forgotten all about the past in which he too had fought for family honor. Despite Kylie's notions, the young man _could _put _some_ things behind him.

"Actually, you're kind of unmistakable," the girl brusquely acknowledged, glancing at the white-tiled ceiling as though for inspiration. "Most of the family watched the entire BEGA Five Tournament – Sure we, I… I saw what happened to you when you faced Brooke," it was her turn to look away, but because of discomfort for the subject matter and apprehension as to what his reaction would be, "and Garland told me about the qualifying matches – how you saw him as some kind of challenge. Gar thought you were being really stupid, but he was obviously worried. I get why you could still hate Brooklyn. But he's _afraid _of _you_." His expression, upon risking a look, was much as she'd feared. Kai appeared to be concentrating on something, and, piecing together the general look of a short, threatening young man with his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his shoulders shook, with his jaw tightened and his eyes serenely shut, Kylie worried that she'd made a serious misstep somewhere in the soliloquy.

Kai felt it was somewhere around her change from emphatic to understanding. He did not need understanding just then. It was like the lavender and sandalwood: entirely unwelcome. He did not need discussion, he did not need to be told about mistakes or the people that he'd caused to worry – he did not need any more guilt to come from the ruinous choices he'd made and would always tend to make. It was hate that gave him strength, anger that allowed him to live his life. Remorse had no _place _here, now, or ever. With an immense effort, the phoenix beyblader was able to sift every feeling her words had brought about: what remained was a tiny seed of sadistic hilarity; it served that crazy monster right to be afraid of him – it was sensible of him to be afraid. Hopefully Garland had sedatives and tissues on hand… hopefully he needed them. "And when you didn't want to let me in..?" Kai quietly asked, pondering the idea that long-past lemonade could taste a little like blood.

"Brooke goes on walks. Sometimes he falls asleep and disappears the entire day… We have a lot of land around here. It suits him. I was trying to decide if he'd be back any time soon, and I – didn't really expect you to stay long. Garland said you wouldn't come if you knew he was here, and since, well, there you were, I figured my brother would just tell you right away and be done with it… that you'd – storm out or something." Kylie's gaze deepened, sincerely warm, heartfelt – the boy apathetically concluded that she was pulling out all the stops now, trying to get him to, what, not hate anymore? Not want to avenge Suzaku's death (regardless of the sacred beast's return thereafter)? Not want revenge for his other selfish reasons? They were selfish, but they were _good reasons_. The second youngest C-Bolt simply did not have the power to make them vanish. "Guess we're all just unlucky… especially Brooklyn."

Brooklyn? Brooklyn being unlucky. Brooklyn unlucky. No, no, as far as Kai was concerned, their dear Brookie had dodged the bullet a few too many times for him to _ever _be considered unlucky. He'd destroyed half the city and gone more or less unpunished, but for having to live in this place with these _people_. He'd put a blader in the hospital (however briefly) and no one had even blinked, but for Kai's friends. He'd attacked, traumatized, and confounded a stadium full of people. He'd practically proven himself clinically insane. He'd fought for _Boris _and (debatably) managed to avoid being experimented on or brainwashed! Unlucky indeed. Besides, the cold-eyed beyblader tried not to put too much faith in luck – choice, fate, their odd relationship… that was what mattered to Kai. A tiny smile crept across his inexpressive mouth and he directed it at Kylie, who, interestingly, reacted just as she had to his most deadly glare.

He nodded slightly, urging her to continue, finally positive that nothing the strange girl had to say had a snowflake's chance in hell of changing his feelings towards Brooklyn. Nothing Garland did could prevent him from trying, with all his might, to destroy that creature – there was only the choice between whether it would be in the beystadium or outside of it. Positive, he could be morbidly amused; positive, he could let her say whatever she wanted and not be bothered (it was how he'd survived inane conversation in the early years of the Blade Breakers, wasn't it?). But Kylie had run out of things to say. She'd run out of ways to speak, tones and tactics to use, and she'd run out of the will to stand there, lemonade in hand, when this was her brother's supposed friend and her brother's problem – when she'd much rather have been on the deck sunbathing… but the young woman knew where her responsibilities and her loyalties were. She wouldn't just leave Kai standing there; leave him to walk out of this house after all that had happened. He didn't deserve it.

But neither could she remain, exercising the same empathy and sympathy that was more frequently turned towards Brooklyn with _much _better results. It was just too damn tiring with Kai. Kylie could only hope that she'd leave him with something to think about – even if it happened to be a thought that wouldn't form for a while yet. "I don't know very much about you, Kai. I don't know if you're a petty, grudge-holding person that hasn't got the heart to forgive. All I know is that you could be good for my brother – he needs a self-sufficient person in his life. He needs somebody that can take a little bit of the burden, that could understand what it is to be a team captain, to have people depending on him… I think Garland could use a friend like you, Kai, if only you'd suck it up and deal with your problems like a human being instead of some – animal. You're still here, so I don't think you've given up on him yet either."

Kylie brushed past the stolid teenager, exiting the kitchen with her head high but voice sullen. "Just give my brother a chance to explain himself, even though I don't think he should have to. I'm going to get Gar now and make sure Brooklyn isn't, you know, huddled in a dark corner… If I learn that you waited around, heard Garland out, maybe even said a word or two, I'll be pretty impressed. I might just let you off for ruining my good day."

Kai turned to watch her disappear, stage-whispering distractedly, "Be careful," again locking onto the more unimportant piece of information – that she would be alone with Brooklyn. Brooklyn was dangerous. He was unbothered by the low opinion of a total stranger such as she, but still found it within himself to be concerned for her safety in the presence of an inhuman _bird_-thing. The blader choked down another small sip of lemonade, looking around the empty kitchen, settling to wait… He was positive that no one could change how he felt about the prodigy of BEGA, but how he regarded Garland was still up in the air – he was angry with him, certainly, but when not angry, he was concerned. And he'd become concerned that Garland did not have a good reason for doing this to him, that Garland did not know what he'd felt like when facing that monster, when letting Suzaku go, that Garland had no idea how much it hurt to have your reality crumble around you, to _drown_. If Apollon's bearer did not have a good reason, Kai wouldn't be able to be his friend, whether or not they would have had a use for one another – the Hiwitari realized, with no small amount of surprise, that he wanted there to be a good reason. He couldn't explain himself in words, but Kai still wanted Garland to know what it felt like.

In a dim room across the house Garland sat cross-legged on a carpeted floor, hands slack in his lap, auburn eyes intently upon the youth tucked into an easy chair just in front of him. They'd been that way for some time, the red head's tone vague; thick hair clutched in his tense fingers, tall body slumped slightly… He'd been speaking of a great many things. It was all the usual Brooklyn-trauma-reaction (Garland had seen it before and hardly been able to _forget_), so he was not surprised or cross when the conspiracy theories were let loose alongside the miserable accusations that he'd done all of it on purpose, that he was trying to ruin Brooklyn's life, that he was trying to kill him, that he'd only brought him into their family to trap him there, that he was bait, that none of it was actually happening, it was a nightmare, it was a lie, it just _could not be_. What had happened to safety, warmth, comfort? What had happened to brotherhood and joy and the lies he'd believed in, the lies of getting to know people and being happy and having some certain individuals that would never _tire _of him, never _harm _him, never _leave _him? Why would Garland let the only one that had ever managed to scare him, that had taken away his visions, back into their lives?

The C-Bolt blader let it wind down, dismally certain of the pointlessness in argument while Brooklyn was too preoccupied to hear. But when the god bearer murmured something barely audible about what-had-he-done-to-make-Garland-hate-him-so-much-for-this-to-happen he felt it was time to put an end to the near-fugue of his teammate. He shuffled up to the chair on his knees, catching the downcast, suddenly wary cerulean eyes of his young friend and giving him the best, most sincere smile he could manage. There was a certain quality of pain in it that one who has never had to face somebody they cared about suffering would not have been able to duplicate. "Brooklyn, I told you everything is going to be okay, and I haven't lied to you yet," he firmly spoke. "I wouldn't do anything to knowingly hurt you; my family, _our _family, Mystel, Ming Ming, Moses, they wouldn't either. I would stop anybody that tried, you got it? And I mean anybody."

A fraction of the suspicion left Brooklyn's stare to be replaced by the tiniest, most tentative glimmer of childish hope; encouraged, Garland continued, "This has really happened, Kai is with my sister right now – he came to speak to me. He didn't know you were here. But he is not going to come anywhere near you again, he is not even going to look at you. I swear that nobody will do you harm while I'm standing. It was a mistake, a stupid mistake and I'm sorry for it." Brooklyn had, at some point, grabbed his leader's hand – his nails dug into it, visage warping into one of fierce determination, eyes once again the eyes of a person shocked, but ready to fight… Garland had seen him look that way once before: when battling Kai for the second time in the BEGA tournament – when his visions had been proven wrong. He did not want Brooklyn to do what he clearly wanted to do. Leveling several buildings probably wasn't a good idea.

"You need to leave this to me," Brooklyn's blue-haired counterpart said, voice firmer still, commanding, even. The point had to be driven home. "I'm the guy that makes sure nobody gets hurt, remember? I'm the guy that protects you. Just trust me – that's all I'm asking." There were a breathless few moments of contemplation – Garland could almost see through the glassy eyes of his charge the power struggle that raged between his light and dark, good and bad, the side that was determined to believe in the bracing, steady older boy kneeled in front of him and the side that believed in nothing but pain, loneliness and reformation. He'd watched the struggle often enough. He always rooted for the former party, knowing that it was probably the main reason the planet Earth was not yet reduced to ash because of one of Brooklyn's "bad days". The red-head finally nodded, blinking quickly as though he'd woken from a trance, loosening his grip and offering a feeble, halting smile. Garland hated to see him in this state, reduced so violently from his usual confidence, carelessness, charm. He could have hated Kai simply for that, if he'd thought hating the phoenix bearer would solve anything.

But it would not, and the smile was reassuring. "Thanks, Brooke." Garland gave a lopsided grin, patting the hand now resting calmly on his and reaching up to lightly cup the back of the genius' neck, pulling their foreheads together in a show of some brotherly affection or loyalty. Dimly, tiredly the two young men laughed together, despising the situation but unable to resist the humor of it. Brooklyn gave a slight yawn, leaning back into the cushy seat just as Kylie slipped into the rarely-used sitting room (put to its purpose then only because it was the farthest from the sounds and inhabitants of the training space and kitchen) unannounced and approached them with relief that nobody was having a mental breakdown clear as day on her face. Her younger sibling tossed a questioning glance, immediately answered with a flash of her eyes and tiny jerk of her head towards the door as she sprawled with a heavy breath across a free loveseat, again displaying a talent for silent communications. Brooklyn watched the proceedings with interested, sleepy eyes (he'd been quite drained by a week's worth of stress and terror, it would seem – not to mention the amount of sun he'd been absorbing lately), but said nothing more.

Garland lurched to his feet and, after smirking knowingly at his teammate and rolling his eyes as though the confrontation with Kai equated to banishing monsters from under the bed more than it did to diving into shark-infested waters, headed out towards the kitchen. It was only away from Brooklyn's sight that the gryphon bearer's expression hardened and feet began to reluctantly scuff the flooring. Suddenly what was happening and what was to come didn't seem so amusing.

_

* * *

Author's Notes:_ Rising action… rising action… 

Sorry this took as long as it did. Chapters pretty lengthy, innit? I just love how these people can look at exactly the same thing and see something entirely different. Ah, young wonder.

A special thanks to my reviewers, without whom I'd not be wracking my brain for extended answers to simple questions like "why oh why does Kai hate Brooklyn?" You three _rock_!

Now someone tell me if Kylie is the tennis player or the golfer because I still haven't found out and it's driving me nuts.

I guess it's safe to say Kai won't be attending any pillow parties at Garland's house from now on.


	5. control and command

_Chapter Five: Control and Command_

Kai stood, watching the opposite doorway sightlessly, leaning with his elbows on the marbled countertop at his back. There was a solemn, somehow vacant frown plastered across his mouth that did not twitch, did not shift in the slightest when Garland entered the room. Though his half-shaded ruby eyes had followed the older boy's steady progress down the hallway and to a point a yard or so before him, there stopped and pillar-like, he had not blinked; had not, in fact, appeared to register that anything was going on. The only motion to suggest after several moments of disconcerting stillness that the young man was not entirely catatonic came in the form of the ginger ascent of a glass bearing the dredges of lemonade to his lips and brisk draining of its contents. The cup was lowered onto the counter once again with a betraying display of force, banging hollowly in the heavy, warm atmosphere, threatening to crack in Kai's grip. His brow furrowed for a breath, the phoenix blader unpeeled his fingers from their choke-hold, still looking into the other's face as though it held nothing of interest – looking beyond it, seeing through it… Seeing the fire beneath the ashes and reveling in its everlasting existence there. Whenever he needed it, it would be within reach.

"He's okay," the C-Bolt, rapidly diminishing nerves and all, informed his more youthful and disturbing counterpart through the haze of irritation in his usually cloud-free mind, for some reason determined to make it_ matter_ to Kai. He had his work cut out for him on that front; high expectations were all good and well, but Garland was a sensible, realistic person. It was not possible to forge an alliance, an allegiance of any kind between Brooklyn and the Hiwatari; not now and likely not ever. However, expectations of some kind were to be expected when one seeking to keep two friends, however at odds and at one another's throats they might be was concerned, and Garland was an idealist. If he was careful, if he tried very hard and very stubbornly and very kindly, and should his timing be absolutely flawless – there was a chance. There was _always _a chance, and in this case, an opportunity to soften the blow he hadn't been certain would fall. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen; something (judging by his open invitation for Kai to visit whenever he so wished it), but not this. It was nevertheless possible, probable even, to forge an understanding between these people he wanted so desperately to understand one another.

Why? _Why_, Kai might have asked, had he been privy to the gryphon bearer's thoughts. Only because Garland wished to be his friend, and then why even that? He was Brooklyn's protector, Brooklyn's captain, _Brooklyn__'s _family – did he really need more tension and emotion in his life? The C-Bolt had asked himself the same questions on several separate occasions when he'd caught his mind wandering to the wielder of the Dranzer blade, wondering offhand how he was, what he was doing, whether or not he could maintain sanity and self-control while handling another meeting with BEGA's prodigy… Inward-turned interrogation had brought him to the conclusion that one of the reasons Garland was drawn to Kai was also a reason he had hoped to become close to Brooklyn himself: both of them had lived (and apparently continued to live) frighteningly delicate lives, their respective realities balanced on the edge of a knife. He wanted to take care of them, make sure they were alright – he wanted to be responsible for them because they _needed _him to be; they needed him to catch them. Apollon's owner was the kind of person that desired that – he had to feel necessary, and it was perhaps Garland's good luck that Kai had materialized his dramatic, furtive way into the professional league, landing on his doorstep, the perfect example of a person set up for a fall.

He'd worried about the younger boy then, coming to gradually realize just how deep his arrogance and willfulness ran through their occasional bouts, getting to know him by the way he bladed. However, Kai's preset nature and the at risk status of an individual impressively lacking in humility were none of his business and he'd been content to leave the younger boy to his eventual failure and subsequent mental breakdown until, until… until he'd caught that sienna gaze fixed, all unconcealed, predatory fascination, on the happily oblivious Brooklyn. Garland had looked back and forth between them, bewildered at the upstart of all-encompassing protectiveness squeezing his heart. Where Kai was "set up for a fall," he'd decided that, should the impossible prove possible, Brooklyn was set up for a sky-dive. Some quality in the Hiwatari had reassured Apollon's bearer early on in observation that his skin was thick, long since toughened by failures, however his eyes had then glowed with purpose and power; some quality spoke of difficult times survived and obstacles overcome, hardship absorbed and lending him strength. Garland had worried about Kai, but, in the rare moments he'd gotten it into his head that Brooklyn _wasn't_ unbeatable, had worried for the genius much more, who, as far as he could tell, possessed no such quality. Kai had also then seemed just the type to do the impossible. He had looked back and forth between them, and been afraid for their souls.

The youngest C-Bolt shouldn't have had to be afraid any longer. It should have been over; it should have been in the past. He had hoped, been almost certain – fairly certain, that nothing bad would happen. He had expected some shock, likely, he'd even expected some residual anger… but he had not foreseen standing in his own kitchen, staring indirectly at one of the boys with whom his well-wishes so often laid as though waiting to be dressed down by a particularly intimidating teacher. Brooklyn, he'd been determined, would be okay; Garland would see to it, he would make certain of it – no matter what Kai did, said, when or how he appeared, in what mood he happened to be or however much a struggle against resolution he put up, in the end everything would be done, in the end there wouldn't be any more nightmares. Spending so much time concerned with Brooke's reaction, he'd not even considered the damage possibly caused by the _god-bearer _showing himself. He had counted on Kai being the stronger person, the forgiving, merciful one (being forgiving and merciful were sensible and realistic – an idealist can suppose everyone has the capacity), the one that would not overreact and, ideally, not react at all. It was meant to have been the final test of whether or not Brooklyn was _well_.

But Kai had not been forgiving or merciful – he had reacted badly, very badly. It had not turned out to be a test of the former BEGA's secret weapon, but an explosion between two instinctual enemies, a mess that Garland had hoped to evade and had not, in fact, even suspected a risk of them being in the same room. He'd known that he was wrong half a second after his charge's arrival, having counted too much on Kai's ability to let go, maybe depending on the influence of the Hiwatari's teammates, an influence that had done so much for Brooklyn and yet appeared not to have extended to Kai in the slightest. It was indeed a stupid mistake, he _was _sorry for it. But he was also annoyed, unpleasantly surprised – why in the hell hadn't Kai _moved on! _Why had he come with that hate intact? Was it so difficult? Was Brooklyn so easy to loathe for the things that had been out of his control..? No one blamed Brooklyn. No one blamed him but Kai. "It's been months; it's been months since he did _anything _to you," Garland hissed, voice low and threatening; at some point he'd pressed his shorter, impassive visitor painfully against the edge of the counter, grasping him by the lapels of his dark blue t-shirt. "Why do you _still hate him_?"

"You didn't honestly expect anything to have changed..?" the end of the Hiwatari line replied, words scorn-soaked, eyes locked onto this other's for the first time, bright with malevolence. It _had_ been months – months of stagnation and suspended memory, months for him to review and decide the possibilities, the inevitabilities… In other words, Kai had spent much of that undistracted time brooding, nursing his anger. The former professional team of BEGA had been a constant topic of conversation; their images plastered across the newspaper or TV was unavoidable; they could not be _escaped_. And that was only in the waking hours… Kai had experienced far too many sleepless nights, choking on the air that he'd believed, seconds before waking was dark, icy water. He could think of Brooklyn and feel the scars from their fights burning and since healed bruises aching. He could rarely _avoid _thinking of Brooklyn – _he_ was the one that couldn't be escaped. The phoenix bearer was a severely tormented individual: his grandfather had been a trial in and of himself, followed by the randomly experienced, quite vivid flashbacks to the Abbey assaulting his head at the most inopportune moments (he'd had to leave a training session the summer before in order to vomit, for example) since their initial unearthing two years prior, and now these redoubled dreams of dying, infernos, and inexplicable, debilitating waves of fear.

Kai demanded absolute control from himself; he required pristine focus, whether inside a beybattle or not – his life itself seemed to be a battle. He had to stifle guilt, stress, self-disgust, and misplaced cruelty on a daily basis… He had to act like a saint in order to end up a merely decent human being. As a result the boy often caught himself coming off unnecessarily cold, but it was better than the alternative. Anyone would take apathy over outright villainy… They might have wanted more, but he could only give so much, only offer so much without risk of – without putting them at risk. Kai did the best he could, tried as hard as he could, even managed to smirk and laugh with them instead of scornfully _at _them sometimes; to those that wished to know him he had forgotten quite a bit, let go of a lot, and never experienced even more. It was his place to protect them and their comfortable delusions and he was entirely responsible for the pain he caused in the process. He'd never shirked the responsibility – he had borne it with such grace and poise, shoulders never slumping with the weight, that many had assumed he was not aware of it, did not _feel _it. He'd been referred to as an "unfeeling bastard" in the past. Maybe that was right. Every emotion: guilt, stress, self-disgust was so easily buried, shoved to the side; he was so used to being an unfeeling bastard that he did not have to spare a thought for it. Unless it was anger… in which case he was just a bastard.

Fighting Brooklyn had been an agonizing journey of self discovery: how far he would go, how much he was willing to risk, how many he was willing to hurt and to what degree he would disregard their happiness and his safety, just how stubborn he could _be_, what, exactly, he was fighting _for_ – and the most important, profound discovery of all: the fire beneath the ashes. Kai hadn't known it was there, at least not on a conscious level… Imagine: hate can be _shelved_. It had drip, drip, dripped from his first sentient year onwards; a ripple each for every wrong done to him, every disagreeable word said to him, every indifferent expression, every single annoyance, and it had formed a lake in the dark. The lake was so white-hot that it felt icy (as hate can) and ash rained from the sky alongside the drops and settled at the surface, thick and constantly shifting, waiting to be brushed aside by the barest touch of extended fingertips. The fire held his reasons: the selfish but good reasons for hating BEGA's genius, the reasons he had to hate _all of them_. He had plunged face-first into the flames, when in the past he had merely toed the edge, and let them eat him alive in order to defeat the undefeatable – a frozen image of Brooklyn's one-time smiling face burned into his retinas for motivation; and yet, and yet in the background, shadowy, familiar figures, each waiting to be burned into his retinas next…

He had realized, while drug-deep asleep in the hospital afterwards that they were everyone he knew well enough to hate, and there was everyone he had thought he finally loved – but while you know a person, you can be aware of some part of them that would make them an enemy if, and only if, the other feelings did not exist as a shield. A person simply has friends because the love for them overcomes the hate – and thus the hate is shelved. It waits until you need it and until you are capable of finding it. Kai was shown the way; the phoenix bearer saw that he had the same degree of rage and power waiting for everyone, to rip into anyone he so chose – and it was terrifying. Wasn't there a chance that one day he would dive into the lake with the grin of one of his closest friends in sight? Wasn't there a chance that he would want to defeat them so badly, in some way, that he would climb down to the immortal flames he hadn't been aware existed and leave all shields behind… to hurt them, to forget them, to forget everything but rage? Kai knew he was not a good person, despite efforts. He knew that he was capable of terrible things. But now, with this path revealed and these inhibitions illuminated for his darker side to despise and test, he was more dangerous than ever. What he had done to Brooklyn – he did not _want _for many others. What he had done to Brooklyn he would relive in utter ecstasy, praising the plunge that had pulled him by the wrists through hell… but it made the act and the feeling no less alarming. Kai was used to, as much as all that came across him were used to, perpetual dispassion.

"I had hoped…" Garland feebly replied, clutching stubbornly to his irritation with the same fervor that he clutched the material of Kai's shirt. The C-Bolt bowed his head so that he'd not be distracted by the incredulous snarl thrown across the other boy's face, one of the less agreeable expressions that he'd been known to muscle into place to hide the thought-marquee running through his eyes. He had to concentrate… on finding a way… to bring Kai around to… Just what was he trying to accomplish? Trying to be – trying to be a friend. A friend for Kai. Kai the vain, overbearing jerk that needed him and turned his musings into nonsensical fragments. Kai the vain, overbearing jerk that he needed. He _needed _Kai? Kai was no use; not this one, not this version of the young man leering across at him, looking to be on the hunt for some mud to sling – but he was a use because… he was at risk of falling, every moment of every day. Not as far as Brooklyn, not as breakable as Brooklyn, but still, in his way Kai was needed _because _he needed. Garland would just have to try harder – he didn't want to choose one or the other, Kai or Brooklyn, because they both required his help.

Kai had to let go of his anger – there was no telling what it would do to him in the long run. How it would ruin all of their li—"He disgusts me," the Hiwatari chose that moment to bluntly elaborate, looking down with a sampler of said disgust at the hands pinning him against the countertop, forcing him to stand on tip-toe, lifted slightly and very uncomfortably. The slate-haired blader finally smacked them away with a throaty, angry-wolf kind of sound, receiving little protest. He sank back to his bare feet and stared defiantly up at Garland, challenging him to retaliate (for either the words or the action; Kai didn't care) – his entire stance was a challenge: not moving to put any more defensive space between the two of them, arms crossed, hands fisted, crimson gaze unblinking and slightly dilated – the gryphon blader absorbed this, raking sore, now free fingers through his loose hair, and decided it would be best not to humor him. It was the moment when the pacifists and preoccupied exited the bar. Garland obligingly broke the eye contact, leveling his attention instead on the bruise across Kai's cheek, which he, incidentally, had put there.

Disconcerting declarations like 'he disgusts me' made the less realistic and sensible parts of Apollon's bearer stir in outrage, requesting further bruising. How did one reason with this boy? How to go about convincing the great Kai Hiwatari, self-righteous to a fault, that he was absolutely wrong and didn't know half the story, when he didn't _care _about the story? Garland wasn't going to bother talking at a deaf ear, yet, what could make Kai listen to him? He _had _to listen so that he could be befriended, or at least comprehended. He couldn't be either unless they moved past this Brooklyn… vendetta… thing. They couldn't be anything at all unless Kai made peace with whatever he was feeling – or was forced to feel something different. _How_..? Reach out to him; reach as far as you can, don't be afraid when he bites your fingers for it – had anyone ever tried to push and shove the stubborn Hiwatari into truthfulness? Garland had a feeling he lied every day to those that asked him if he was alright, and did it habitually, naturally. Maybe – maybe Kai wouldn't lie to _him_? "Why does Brooklyn disgust you?" the older boy carefully asked, swallowing his pride and nausea for the purpose, fighting to keep himself looking as relaxed, genuinely interested and pacifistic as possible.

Kai's stare, which had been wandering, snapped back to the other's face with renewed attention and a glimmer of surprise. He'd not been expecting such a stupid, obvious question. Regarding Garland with faintly amused respect (capable of shocking a Hiwatari… wow), the boy inwardly debated whether to grace him with a reply. In the end, the phoenix bearer decided to wait, let him stew, allowing his garnet eyes to roll away in open exasperation to the clock hanging above the door everyone kept moving in and out of, tracking the seconds of his life as they melted away, scowl firmly pressed across his mouth, for the respect was fleeting and quickly replaced by annoyance. "You're not interested in hearing unless it would help Brooklyn," Kai evenly began, unfriendly but thoughtful face still turned elsewhere, "and_ I'm_ not interested in helping Brooklyn." The boy raised a thick eyebrow, issuing yet another challenge – one could easily have the idea that he was _asking _for Garland to attack him… All Suzaku's wielder needed was an excuse, after all.

Garland looked thoroughly frustrated, and so Kai, deciding to push his luck, continued without pause, "You had _hoped_… You thought you could control me." His glare narrowed dramatically, mind having reached this latter conclusion after minutes of steadily puzzling in the background as to why, _why _ Garland had acted so usual with him in the house, well aware that something terrible – and there it was: the C-Bolt bastard had thought he could be _changed_,_ used_, and then as what? Some, some therapy session for _Brooklyn_? Kai's breath caught in his throat a moment, and then escaped in a wondering 'huh'. The gryphon beyblader really was as dumb as Kai had begun to suspect at the beginning of this entire ordeal, wasn't he? Most disturbingly, why had Garland thought him so predictable? Predictable people… let go. Predictable people moved on. Predictable, normal people didn't concentrate on everything _bad _in the world, _bad _in others. Kai knew all about normal people, and he wasn't about to willingly become one. Normal people were mediocre: they did not excel at anything, they were unworthy of whatever they had, always – Kai was exceptional by birth. He was exceptional because he fought for perfection. Normal, predictable people? They settled. Where was the exception in going blindly along with the wishes of others?

"I was under the impression that you could control yourself," soon followed the viciously condescending reply as Garland grew quite sick of Kai's sanctimonious tone. Did he think he was some kind of martyr? He hadn't been the one huddled in a dark room's easy chair, scared out of his wits. He hadn't been nearly as wronged as Brooklyn. He needed some _perspective_. The older boy's hand twitched – he needed perspective and to be _punched_. Kai would never know how much patience it took the C-Bolt to keep from attacking him at that moment. He would never have appreciated knowing… The phoenix bearer found _others_ predictable. He expected almost as much out of them as he did out of himself – he expected them to act in accordance with their natures, and Garland's nature was one of patience. Kai was not, even for a moment, afraid.

"So, then you thought you could control _Brooklyn_," the slate-haired blader slyly said, nodding, bitterly smirking. He could tell it was a combination of both, yet confronting Garland about his stupidity was deeply satisfying; watching the cogs working behind the chestnut eyes downcast in momentary shame strangely fascinating. However, when the taller teenager glanced up again, he seemed entirely steady – which was a shame. Kai eyed him, wary, knowing the look of somebody that had a plan up their sleeve.

"He's been doing well," Garland airily informed, "sleeping all the way through the nights, hardly ever locking himself in his room for days on end anymore. He's starting to form opinions of his own instead of simply accepting those of the people around him – Brooke's actually become a little headstrong and his arrogance isn't only a superficial defense mechanism _now_. Since he knows what losing is like, he isn't so afraid of it anymore and he's ten times stronger for it; it's great progress. I never realized he used to hold everyone at such a distance until he _really_ started accepting us… You know he asked for a picture of the entire team? That was the turning point – when he'd finally decided on his family; I already knew he'd found some good friends that wouldn't take advantage of him, _ever_, but when _he _knew it without having to be told. You should see all the photos he has in his room now…

He was a great actor in BEGA; we never suspected he didn't care about anything but himself and Zeus and was – so, _so_ close to slipping over the edge, but I'm glad to say people can actually reach him now. He listens when he's spoken to, even when he doesn't like what's being said, instead of ignoring everything – I really think he's starting to like the real world and what unconditional friendship has to offer him. And that's the most important thing, isn't it? That he like what's out here better than what is already in his head? That he appreciate and desire things beyond, well, what he wanted before..? Power… control… freedom… He would have been so lonely. He's not alone anymore, Kai. We're the ones that gave him enough strength to face you in his dreams, so of course I assumed it would work just as well out here. Brooklyn's dream-world and reality have always been pretty blurred together anyway."

Garland smiled graciously down at the Hiwatari, though inwardly the expression was a self-appreciative grimace. He knew that he was blindly feeling in the dark, but hopefully something would strike a chord in Kai, who, for his part, merely stared. The gryphon beyblader had no trouble imagining his guest's inner child humming determinedly, small hands tight over his ears and eyes screwed shut – this was more information that he'd desired. Far more. Kai was hell-bent on thinking of Brooklyn as a monster to be loathed, not a victim best pitied. He was horrified by these tidbits of recovery process, a process he'd seen, one way or another, in several individuals that were _not _his mortal enemies. _Kai _had nightmares about Brooklyn (whether literally or figuratively) and his eerie presence, _Kai _had needed to learn and accept the value in loyalties and come to desire things beyond power… Take BEGA's genius out of the picture and it could be a romanticized telling of what any of the Abbey children had gone through. But it could not be _swallowed_. It couldn't be right. The Brooklyn that Garland breathed about with such obvious pride and affection was not the homicidal lunatic that had laughed at Kai, _hurt _Kai, wheeled through the air in frenzied delight – this painted image of a simple boy getting on with his life after some traumatic incident was not who Kai was familiar with in… _his _dreams.

Kai had clutched onto that hate for _that _monster, knowing he would need it, knowing he would _use _it again someday. But was that creature the same as this innocent person being described, forming in his mind's eye? Was there a possibility that the Brooklyn he had come across, barging into the training room and demanding to know whether or not the Kai before him (the Kai he had _feared_? Was it possible? It made him horribly glad, but the Brooklyn that had nearly murdered Suzaku had definitely not been afraid…of him) was real, had been different, a changed _human _that he knew nothing about? Was there _any _way that the young Hiwatari was wasting his life hating somebody that no longer existed? Forcing his suddenly unsteady breathing into a more or less natural rhythm, Kai's searching eyes wandered again to Garland, probing them for the answers he needed – silently begging for a lying crack in the deplorably smooth visage, but, as again, there were none.

There was still nothing to prove the C-Bolt's insincerity, but how could he be believed… How could he be so _naive! _On the off chance that Brooklyn was somehow a _better person_, Kai still knew all about darkness and even more about _potential_. He himself was a horrible human being with a hideous degree of depravity and malice hidden beneath a thick layer of constraint – the ash above the lake of fire, the shields protecting those the young man cared for, – brought successfully, though never fully, to the surface by one Kuro Suzaku before retreating once again to the rotten bottom of his heart – but he knew it was there. He felt it every day, festering. He had the potential, and so too did Brooklyn. No matter how long they're clean, an alcoholic will always be an alcoholic. Some part of he and the god-bearer would always be a hazard, and Kai put absolutely no faith in _Brooklyn__'s_ self-mastery.

"There will come a day," the phoenix bearer resentfully promised, speaking slowly as though explaining something difficult to an especially inept toddler, all the while gazing deeply, genuinely, and warningly into the brow-furrowed face of Garland, "when you'll have to put that abomination down. He is a tool to be used and discarded – Boris and Hiro knew it… I'll bet his unfortunate parents did as well – did you ever ask him how he ended up in Balcov's hands? My guess is they handed him over. They saw his _potential_, his _genius_. When Brooklyn decides he wants to play out his little fantasies for real, you're going to see a lot more destruction than a few scalped skyscrapers. It's sad that I'll be the only person on Earth ready for it." It didn't matter what mask of decency, honor, _goodness _this fool's beloved prodigy wore in order to sway him and so sway the world, because monsters didn't change. Kai knew from experience… _he'd_ never been able to. And so the highly corruptible Hiwatari carefully picked up his empty glass from the marbled, reflective countertop, and threw it with the violence and rapidity of a snake-strike over Garland's shoulder in the direction of the doorway, fully conscious of Brooklyn, quietly standing there.

_

* * *

_

_Author's Notes: _I updated, fixing a lot of grammatical weirdness, but nothing important has changed so don't even bother re-reading. I can't stand errors, and am profoundly embarrassed by the "Hiwitari" vs. "Hiwatari" thing, but, seeing as I've been doing it incorrectly for the _entire story _I'm not at all eager to edit the whole thing. I must just be a silly girl. Thanks for drawing my attention to stuff like this, Spyrit Phoenyx. Maybe I should get a proof-reader...

I'm surprised and honored at the overwhelmingly positive feedback this thing is getting; thank you, everyone, for enjoying it as much as you seem to, and for your patience with me.

Now for some individual replies, because it is _deserved_: _Spyrit Phoenyx_ – I didn't _mean_ for Kai to sound like an alcoholic, because frankly, when I hear 'drink', I assume hard liquor too… seems like he needed one… Thank you for your continuing support, nevertheless, and good to hear you've recovered from your disease. This chapter is dedicated to _you_ -chortle-. _The Hands of Fate and Destiny_ – Thanks for your enthusiasm. I'm afraid I did rely somewhat heavily on these guys having changed a little after their experiences in G-Rev… figured it was alright as long as I remained in the realm of possibility. I have no problem with yaoi, and rest assured, will consider doing something of the like in the future. _Astera Snape – _I hope I made it clear why Kai could hold his little grudge in this chapter. Kind of. Maybe. I'm just not convinced he's the letting go _type. _Thank you so much for adding me to your favorites, it's a huge compliment. And to you and _Bakura13_, knowing that Kylie is the tennis player for certain is a load off my mind, heh. Finally, _storm-of-insanity_ – are you okay?


	6. collide and collude, part 1

_Chapter Six, Part One: Collide and Collude_

Garland wasted but a moment glancing away in order to assess the damage before his glower sought to recapture Kai's –he found it set stubbornly and smugly upon the scene the boy had caused. Not one to go ignored while in such a _mood_, the C-Bolt rammed the phoenix blader backwards against the counter, one hand clamping both of the young Hiwatari's together and the other holding him somewhat aloft by his throat. Apollon's bearer might have paused, had a second thought, worried for the outcome, but somewhere Kai had crossed a line. He'd spoken of tools to be used and monsters and the intentions of loving parents as though he was an authority. He was not an authority. Not on Brooklyn. And so the mercy plea expressed in the red-eyed boy's involuntary winces and gritted teeth and strained muscles and pulse beating adrenalin-wild against his captor's tight fingers fell on deaf ears. All those ears heard were the shocked and angered babblings of an older sister as she feverously picked bits of shattered glass out of copper hair.

For his part, Brooklyn wasn't making a sound, standing in the doorway with a kind of questioning, calm look about him – deeper still, an expression of cool satisfaction. His precognition might have diminished somewhat as of late, but he had retained enough to know where _not _to be (such as not in the middle of busy streets, the presence of obsessive genetic engineers, around when Ming Ming wanted to perform…), and was as pleased as usual that shifting three inches to his left had been all it took to prevent something sharp from introducing itself to his eye. Sure he was pleased, having just scored a small victory, rewarded by seeing the one and only Kai gasping for breath in his best friend's chokehold. His best friend that had betrayed him and was betraying him at that very moment. But his best friend nonetheless. It wasn't how he or Zeus would have dealt with the issue, but Garland's method was sufficient. A part of Brooklyn was squirming to be in the very same room as the troubling reality that had proven to be Kai Hiwatari, but it wasn't _that _part which had brought him to the kitchen – at the moment, _that _piteous part was irrelevant. He'd bask a second more in the triumph of a chain-reaction perfectly executed, because Kylie would run out of breath shortly, and then they'd find out the truth.

She had been using said breath from the time they had seen their guest still present onwards in an unending stream of impressive trilingual obscenities, warnings, and comforting, which finally culminated into the indignant words: "That almost hit Brooklyn – that almost hit _me_! Who _does_ that? Who just throws dishes around? Garland, don't you dare kill him; you two are being such _children_. Brooke, Brooklyn, are you bleeding? _I'm _bleeding. My fucking _hand _is bleeding. No, don't you _move_, you have glass in your hair! And it's on the floor – I said don't move!" The no-nonsense, nobodies fool Brooklyn of the moment hadn't really been listening to the no-nonsense, nobodies fool Kylie, continuing to crunch across the floor until he was placed at the precise center of the kitchen: a better position from which to silently observe the hazing of his mortal enemy's usually oh-so-bright eyes. The sole blonde and female, absolutely furious with the disregard of everybody present, snarled, "Fine," and was done with holding her position. She strode across the room and violently spun the tap in the sink, throwing her wounded appendage into the stream of water, all the while casting a woeful stare at her sibling and Kai, hardly an arm's length away. "I swear, Garland, if he winds up dead…" Though desensitized by the antics of elder brothers, she'd never enjoyed fights breaking out in the kitchen.

As the gryphon-bearer attempted to objectively decide the next move (his arms were getting tired), watching the color leaving Kai's face with the same clinical disregard he'd employed in order to harm a strange, angry Russian boy, putting aside all empathetic and moral protestation, the Hiwatari was puzzling things over for himself from on high. Recognizing the smoothly closing window of opportunity for what it was, he decided to act immediately – he attacked. Kai slammed his knee (as bony as it had been when last mentioned) forcefully into the taller beyblader's abdomen. It was a difficult maneuver in such an effectively restrained, vulnerable position and not currently capable of doing much damage, but it had the desired effect: Garland startled and dropped him, stumbling back a pace or two. Kai, cornered, the mouse having bitten the cat, in turn fell and met the terrible marble edge beneath with his spine, raking his already bruised skin all the way to earth after a valiant attempt at remaining on foot.

His first sight was Brooklyn. Observations of Garland swimming out of focus, a wash of red darkening to black and then – Brooklyn. Kai lurched upwards again despite the protests of his every bone, lightening head, and turning stomach, aided only by the child-made resolution never to face a challenge on his knees and an uncommon degree of presently world-renowned stubbornness. Suzaku, Dranzer blade included, was righteously pissed – he could feel every bit of it emanating even from the phoenix's resting place in his jacket, left safely behind in the training room. He was pissed also. Unfortunately, that wasn't doing much to stifle a reflexive and absolutely embarrassing coughing fit. He'd forgotten what nearly being knocked out by oxygen deprivation was… like. Somebody he had no interest in dutifully steadied his strangely unbalanced form, and then tried to force yet another glass of something into his hand.

"Can I give this to you or will you throw it?" Kylie impetuously asked, sloshing the cup of water in front of Kai's face to catch some attention. He choked on another cough, willing it away in order to spare his whipped pride, and glanced hatefully in the girl's direction. She raised her eyebrows. He knit his. She sloshed. He snatched and swallowed a quick mouthful before thrusting the offending panacea back at her, simultaneously extricating his arm from her bracing grip and edging away. He would have liked to have thrown it. They'd clearly expected him to – they wouldn't be allowed the satisfaction of seeing him beaten by the emotions that _he _beat... Kai had himself trained. The rest of the world hadn't. He was _not predictable_. Or so he hoped – hadn't Brooklyn once told him otherwise? Brooklyn… The troublemaking outsider gazed across at the constant subject of his thoughts. Brooklyn _had_ told him otherwise once. But Brooklyn was full of crap. He'd been proven wrong – the lot of them had been proven wrong.

"You bastard," Garland eventually, evenly stated, having more or less wrested his rage into a deadly undercurrent that resembled serenity, and gone to regroup at the god-bearer's side. Everybody in the room was profoundly irritated with one another for a variety of reasons (Brooklyn had disobeyed him, Kylie was acting like a nosy, amateur ambassador…), but he was _most _irritated with Kai. Kai was being a bastard. "What did you think you were doing? Do you even think? You can't… or you'd know it wouldn't have fixed anything – it hasn't. Has it made you happier? You want to murder him, Kai? Would that make you _feel better_ about..? I can't even tell anymore… about losing to Brooklyn? That is your problem, isn't it?" It sounded more ridiculous than ever when said out loud. The youngest C-Bolt blew out a breath and smiled humorlessly.

"But he can't hurt me," BEGA's red-haired genius drawled, sounding shockingly untroubled, half-watching the frowning phoenix-bearer as he absently picked shining bits of glass off of his clothing. "I, however, could kill him." The observation earned a pair of matching, disturbed, quizzical looks from the siblings – Kai merely blinked. "Gar would hold you down if I asked – but I don't need him to. You'd be dead before you hit the floor. Before you even _moved_. I have Zeus right here. He'd be happy to… I bet you're missing that blade of yours – the demolished one. It got rebuilt, I can tell it did. And you're missing the little firebird. I know it's _here_, just not _with _you. It never occurred to you that you're not safe without it, _ever_, did it, Kai?" He paused, as though for effect, gazing placidly across what felt like miles of empty space at the bane of his existence and seeing his own decapitated corpse reflected back in the garnet irises. The side of him no longer in control, in fact left behind in the sitting room, perched worriedly in the easy chair, shuddering and wishing he'd trusted Garland to handle it on his own, as per request. The Brooklyn in the kitchen was enjoying every second of defiance. He'd defied the world and its quaint rules before – one protector's authority wasn't much of a stretch.

"I'm going to tell you a secret, Kai Hiwatari, and you might not want to hear it," the god-bearer continued, ceasing to remove glass so that he could quite blatantly draw Zeus' blade out of his pants pocket, the others staring on with bated breath (but for Kai, who was refusing to have his bodily reactions manipulated – he was _not _threatened, he was _not threatened_, dammit! – and breathed with contrived normalcy). "Even if you had Suzaku – it wouldn't be able to save you. I'm not _like _before. I'm not above killing you." Brooklyn looked around himself wonderingly and pointedly. "There's nobody holding me back now. I'm not above slaughtering your phoenix to get to you, and then who would it have to come back for? No, Kai, you're well aware that Suzaku wouldn't be able to do it again… You've been worried all this time that it was a fluke. You know even if the beast lived, it wouldn't _keep coming back_. Not to fight me. Not to die for you. I was there, you know, Kai." He shook his head, as if out of sympathy. "I saw what you had to sacrifice just to get your bird to push on – it wasn't very nice of you to force –"

"Brooklyn," Garland interrupted, shaking his head slightly in unvoiced disapproval. As much as the Hiwatari deserved a smack down, no good reason existed to drag his bit beast into it; there was no secret when it came to Kai's relationship with Suzaku. Whether or not the genius was correct when it came to the veteran blader's anxiety about it being in danger at any given moment was unimportant… Brooklyn would still have been threatening Kai's most valued friend and possession. It wasn't behavior Garland condoned, and only further evidence that the young man who'd promised to trust his judgment was no longer present. This was the side that trusted nobody and acted only out of self-defense, doing the most radical things in the name of survival, these days believing in the 'get them before they get you' philosophy – he and the team had been working to reform it into something slightly less… harmful. Kai's visit was obviously unraveling more than it was improving.

"Okay, Gar, I just have one more question for Kai, while he's being so good about everything," the cobalt-eyed teenager mildly pressed, beaming at his captain in brief, before the countenance warped to overacted solemnity. He waited, inhaling and exhaling loudly, watching the Hiwatari legacy, pressed as he was against the opposite side of the room like some sort of caged animal, bared teeth and raised hackles included, until the perfect moment – the breaking point of the room's tension. He knew it had come because Kylie was just opening her mouth to say something… However, as Brooklyn's voice overrode hers in a way it never so disrespectfully did, her mouth dropped open out of surprise instead. "How is Kuro Suzaku doing?" he asked.

Brooklyn mentally added another point to his scorecard when he saw his seething object of aversion go as white as a corpse beneath the visible bruises, eyes widening and shadowing, body appearing to go absolutely rigid. The terrified innocence within him perked up, apprehensive that the combination of a hated name uttered by a hated person (to whom it should never have been connected) really _had _distressed Kai to _death_. But Brooklyn had tasted blood – he wasn't about to let it go, not while his opponent was still standing; "I was just wondering. I was interested to meet that _other _phoenix of yours… since the beginning. Never got why you didn't just – go ahead and use it. I would have liked to see if you were any better. If you could have beaten me, maybe a little easier. Maybe without so many casualties. Maybe, oh, I don't know –couldn't you have spared Suzaku all that pain? I heard the dark beast was a force… At least that's what I _heard_. You never showed me _anything_ to be afraid of." The young man broke off with a heavy sigh, guileless glance sliding across the deeply bewildered ones of Garland and his sister.

Kai supposed that he was going to be sick. He had no idea what to _think_, let alone say. There was some kind of a roadblock abruptly dropped in front of his latest musings, and they continually banged against it, bouncing back, replaying, hitting, bouncing, replaying… Brooklyn, who lazed about, playing with flowers and ladybugs, drowning people, burning them alive because he _could_, knew about Kuro Suzaku. The hardest memory (what's a memory called if it lives on in the present?) he had was in the hands of _another _person that he loathed, _another_ person that would apparently use it against him – to hurt him, to make him relive all of… For the first time he noticed that the feeling of encountering BEGA's genius in his dreams was just like the feeling of encountering Kuro Suzaku. They were almost the same nightmare, but for the nature of Kai's dark beast, permeated with self-doubt, disgust, misery, weakness, and pain – fed by every instance of his basest urges to live in constant search of power; fed, but hungry. Brooklyn, whom he hated in a remote sort of way, knew about Kuro Suzaku, whom he hated. Differently, but both. Now they had access to one another… He'd fought so hard to keep that damned bird out of his head and finally, _finally _learned how to kill it in his nightmares – Brooklyn was the same enemy these days, playing the same part. Knowing one another, Kai knowing they _knew_, they'd be… stronger… reinforced. How would he ever sleep again?

Where had Brooklyn heard? No one should have suffered that abomination, that demon – it was a mistake that anyone ever had. One of Kai's greatest mistakes, letting the black phoenix touch human lives, letting it stake claim on his own for… forever. Letting it mark him. It was still _in _him, always there – the potential. His most rotten, disgusting, coldest – where he was dead, the place Kuro Suzaku dwelt, a part of his soul and a benefactor when it came to the lake beneath the ashes. He knew the others didn't deal with his kind of phantasms – didn't toss and turn or silently scream, but they'd been exposed to the monster through him, the monster in him, the thing that _was _him and would always _be _him. If he could have changed the past, he would have taken the icy touch of the great bird out of their recollections. They didn't deserve it or need it, they shouldn't have known a thing, but he'd been cruel and dragged them in. He'd been crueler than necessary because of Kuro Suzaku whispering in his ear. It still whispered. All Kai could do was prevent it from muttering to them as well – he had to make them deaf. He had to make them believe it didn't matter anymore; if you don't think about something it _doesn't exist_, it loses all its power over you. The Hiwatari had been in denial for most of his life, hadn't he? Forgetting all of it? He'd do anything to keep them out of Kuro's reach, now and forever. If need be, the behemoth could eat him alive in exchange. But… it turned out that not even God could change the past.

Where had he heard? The roadblock slipped and it became an easy question; the answer was Boris. Wasn't it always Boris? Just something he'd _do _on a whim, handing silver bullets to the enemies of the lone wolf; there was no mistaking that he'd passionately hated the returning blader and been keenly interested in engineering his downfall. All was in-character when it came to certain mad scientists. Hiro was likely a fire-starter – he'd have loved to give Brooklyn an edge, and have known Boris had an edge to give, – he was manipulative that way. In an exclusive interview with the corrupt director of Russia's now infamous Balcov Abbey, Boris Balcov tells all concerning the one-that-got-away-twice (thrice?). An emotional account, certainly, filled with plot holes and carefully concealed truths and outright lies, as was the tradition. Brooklyn would have eaten up every word sliding forth from the oily-clever intellect of that man… As would have Garland, but judging from the look on his face, he hadn't heard a _thing _about the BioVolt fiasco until his darling protégé had sucker-punched Kai's worn and weathered dignity just moments ago. He'd probably not have asked in the first place. Brooklyn knew something, he had a secret weapon previously humored only in the hands of the inevitable individuals that were directly involved, however undoubtedly the story he'd been reverently told was warped and incorrect, like the storyteller's brain. So what was Kai going to do about it?

He cast Zeus' blade, glinting so coldly in its owner's hand, a nonchalant look, lifting his marginally fallen chin up and crossing his arms over his chest, appearing for all the world haughty and unconvinced. "Truth be told, you weren't worth the trouble. You never showed me anything to be afraid of either. Kuro Suzaku would have been bored," he replied, voice determinedly much less shaky than his nerves, though somewhat strained through a bruised throat. I will not lash out in self-doubt and fear, the young dual phoenix-bearer told his self firmly, because I am neither doubtful nor afraid. Kai, finally back on his feet in the figurative sense as well as the literal, stared at each inhabiting the room in painstaking turn, demanding they fire off a few more shots while he was still in a most uncaring mood. If the memory of Kuro Suzaku couldn't _really _hurt him, what on Earth could? It was the worst and possibly earliest he had; spending most of your teenage years unable to recall any of your childhood resulted in a habit of living in the present (and fiercely protecting any retained memories made thereafter)… What he had eventually acknowledged as scenes from the real past remained to the day as_ unreal_ as his fleeting nightmares. Everything could be ignored in time, including the inviting whispers and sweet nothings of shadowy demons – including, he hoped, Brooklyn. Kai couldn't count on selective amnesia rolling around _twice_, anyway, could he?

"What in the world are you boys going on about now..?" Kylie, the most wearily confused presence demanded, brown eyes narrowed in incredulity. "Suzaku… _Kuro _Suzaku?" She pinched the bridge of her nose as if warding off a headache. Of course the girl knew about bit beasts (it had been something more of an ordeal having enough faith in their presence to satisfy her little brother in his early training years: "Kylie, you've gotta see this!" "See what?" "Apollon!" "What?" "Right _there_!" "…What?" "You're staring straight _at_ him!"), she just had a difficult time conceptualizing the amount of emotional baggage that came with them. Sometimes they seemed to be more trouble than they were worth… Sometimes it was easier to pretend beyblading was an almost _normal _sport that had nothing to do with alternate realities or the reconstruction still going on in the city. Easier, but untrue. The fact was that to swallow everything unreasonable, to confront it, one had to suspend their disbelief. She'd been in a state of suspended disbelief for years because of Garland's unexpected choice-of-occupation. Professional beyblader. Professional gryphon-bearer… Once in a while she'd see Apollon, if just to make her sibling happy. That didn't mean that Kylie condoned utter attachment to a mere family heirloom passed down from some eccentric.

"They're Kai's…" Gar was looking sharply back and forth between Brooklyn and the oddly composed Hiwatari, attempting to wrap his head around the accusation and what might just have been a confession. Two bit beasts – _two _phoenixes? One stronger than the other, this Kuro thing… Kai hadn't protested at all, despite the connotations. The youngest C-Bolt found himself growing interested (and to a degree, suspicious), because if it was so, if Kai had a pair of bit beasts that could be used and interchanged at any time, why _weren't _they? There had to be something wrong, something that prevented him from unleashing this 'dark beast,' even when the situation was dire, when it _demanded _the _best_. In a way, Brooklyn was correct… Suzaku had obviously been pushed to its very limits and maybe past them – he had assumed the young Hiwatari lacked a choice in the matter, but if there was an alternative that might have spared the bird such pain, what sort of a bearer would pass it by? A bit beast was a privilege… one did not risk it lightly. Until those exchanged words, Garland hadn't a doubt in his mind that Kai loved his phoenix and would have done anything to protect it – now there was only doubt. Did the blader impassively glaring at him have to protect Suzaku from himself? Could he? "Brooke… where did you hear about all of this?" he questioned, eyes never leaving Kai.

The genius, who had been gazing about at them in an overpowering display of gentle guiltlessness (and fooling no one), slowly smiled at his captain. "I was curious as to how coach Hiro was acquainted with Kai —" Brooklyn's bright blue eyes jumped back to the latter young man when a sneer curled its way across his bruised, previously emotionless face: he'd been right, Hiro had set it up. That was something to sneer about. "— So I asked, and from there happened to learn that Hiro was the world champion's older brother, but more importantly, that in matters concerning Kai, I should consult somebody that knew him better." He grinned lazily and sadistically at the slate-haired beyblader across the room for the sake of watching him bristle, and then faced Garland, all honesty and fat cherubim once again. "I was directed to seek a consultation with Boris… It wasn't surprising to me that the two apparently had dealings prior to BEGA – the way they made a point of avoiding one another was telling enough, though I'm sure you noticed the staring contests?" His head tilted in question, and a bewildered and morbidly fascinated Garland nodded agreement.

Satisfied, Brooklyn cleared his throat to continue, obviously (or as far as obviously to Kai Hiwatari) relishing the recap of a scenario that would lead without fail to too much information shared. Information that had no business being shared. He needed to be shut up. Ruby irises fell on the Zeus beyblade for a second time, scrutinizing – he wasn't afraid of that thing. He had _nothing _to be afraid of anymore. But then, Suzaku was so far away… Could he strike more quickly than the god in that hunk of metal attacked? With his Dranzer, probably. Without it, not a chance. For the time being he was pinned, force-fed this annoying drabble – Kai readily dived at the opportunity to feel annoyed and angry instead of hurt and helpless. Attempting to tune out the surrounding, irritating conversation he began to form an insane plot. It involved procuring a large knife from the wooden block further along the countertop and taking Kylie hostage. The kitchen was becoming suffocating, all those soothing smells softly drifting inwards to spirit away what resolve to remain constant he had left. Sickening lilac, sandalwood – why was it nobody else noticed! Too much longer and he'd snap; the phoenix blader supposed the day could end only in injury and tears, one way or another… and what a common theme in his life thus far.

"So I think we could gather from pure observation that Boris Balcov and Kai Hiwatari had been at odds somehow, that one had _wronged _the other. Just how it happened is a very fine story, and I'd have Kai himself tell it for accuracy's sake if he didn't look so very faint – it's simple in both structure and moral, but I'd rather not butcher the punch line… Suffice it to say that once upon a time in Russia – only a couple of years ago, actually, – Boris offered Kai a very special bit beast named Kuro Suzaku, _perfect_ for him in every single way and the uses he'd_ always _wished to put one to. Having accepted this gracious gift he felt it unnecessary to retain possession of the original firebird, discarding Suzaku as then useless, only a weakling child's training ground in preparation for the comparative superiority of his _new_ pal. Kai then proceeded to leave his former team, the Bladebreakers, when they needed him the most in the finals of the World Championship tournament in favor of the already powerful _soldiers _– for lack of a better term – they were facing, Russia's Demolition Boys, under Mr. Balcov. The way he told it to me, Kai came across remorseless." Brooklyn redoubled his cheerful smile. "I didn't sense any deception."

* * *

_Author's Notes: _Climax, eh..? Guess I was lying! This is a two-part chapter of doom, because, frankly, it was getting way too long to be a single one. And man, I haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet… We'll find the bottom of this dilemma though, I swear, if it's the last thing I do; you guys just try to follow my train of thought in these – I know it can't be easy. I had so much fun throwing Garland out of the loop with the whole Russia thing. Brooklyn knowing all that doesn't really help their situation much though, does it? 

I apologize to those of you who've liked how Brooklyn has been thus far, because in this chapter – well I killed it, didn't I? And it was _fun_. I turned him into a devious little… I just kept remembering those scenes in his last battle against Tyson and came to the decision that yes, Brooklyn has a pretty dangerous side to his personality. It's dominating and scary. It comes out when he's under extreme stress. He was under extreme stress. And there you have it. Furthermore, it, meanie-Brookie, being out and about allows the lot of them a tiny bit more honesty and Garland doesn't feel the need to be so protective. Which was getting in my way. So I got it _out _of my way.

I'll say more at the end of part two, but let's end this bit with a special thank you to Rae TB, to whom the chapter as a whole and the power-fragments therein are dedicated. I did what I could to heed your wonderful advice as _another _great writer it is an honor to have amused, and was impressed by your insight – it was refreshing. Keep up your awesome work and I'll keep right on reading it.

Now, friends, countrymen… forge on!


	7. collide and collude, part 2

_Chapter Seven, Part Two: Collide and Collude_

Why, when he was concentrating fully on forgetting Brooklyn was present, he became more apparent than ever? Fine threads of self-control frayed and ripped—counting the tiles on the floor helped, but wouldn't for long (frantically snatching at distraction rarely does). He'd gone over the same row five times already and could _still_ hear beyond the mounting numbers. He wished to be surprised, so that the beast might stir and the all-encompassing, vacuous buzz return, but alas, he was far from surprised—he'd expected exactly this from the beginning, but foresight made it no easier to stomach. His loudmouth animal's maw remained firmly shut.

The blood and so color had been draining out of his flesh for some time, and Kai could not fathom just where it was going. Perhaps to accommodate his suddenly irregular heartbeat? The story of certain fateful, ice-filled times was being told incorrectly, and it was driving him insane. But he could not speak up; he'd have nothing helpful to say on the subject. There was nothing to say about it. There was nothing—the Hiwatari heir was adamantly silent when it came to those times. He would not, could not put the events or emotions into words. Not for anybody's benefit… not even for his own.

"You threw away Suzaku? For a… stronger _weapon _to use?" Garland interjected, sounding disgruntled. The C-Bolt didn't know what he wanted the truth to be—about Kai's intentions, about where his loyalties had lain. Did he, did he value power over everything? Over friendship, loyalty, love… Even now?

There was only one person in the room that could set them straight about the events in Russia, after Brooklyn's editorializing… if he only would. Merely armed with the power to theorize, the gryphon blader saw himself as perceptive (or at least not stupid), but Kai was turning out to be a mass of contradicting mysteries beneath an equally enigmatic surface. Garland was having trouble just gathering enough facts to make keeping them in order a legitimate task. He genuinely wondered how a person could live, _function_, being as emotionally inhibited as Kai.

"You left your team to fend for themselves in a World Championship tournament?" Kylie added, not helping the situation, blinking her dismay, eyebrows raised all the way up under the fray of her long bangs. Quite uncomfortable, the woman rubbed the back of her neck with one hand and slowly turned Kai's half-full water glass with the other, though she did neither with any visible conviction. "The… G-Revolutions, those guys from the Justice Five, right? Oh Jeeze, Kai…" The Hiwatari thought she made it sound like he'd killed somebody. Oh wait, he had. Suzaku. Kai sighed.

Apart from the scattered details she'd gleaned from conversation with her brother, only one image of the one-time world-renowned Bladebreakers stuck out in her mind from the broadcast of the BEGA tournament: they had run to meet him plodding down from the platform, laughing and cheering and grinning like, well, kids – and he'd nearly fallen, and they'd crowded around, and their concern, joy, all in an instant, told volumes of everything they'd gone through together.

Kai had been _with_ them, among them, present in a way… Kylie couldn't boast that; she knew his heart had been elsewhere since stepping foot in the house. She hadn't thought… She would never have guessed that he'd hurt those people like Brooklyn said; seeing the frayed and beaten teenager at the center of their attention, completely harmless in their midst despite all the harm he'd just done to his opponent, Kylie would not have thought he _would _hurt _them_. They loved him. How different could it have been only 'a couple of years ago'? You don't hurt the ones that love you.

"I bet we could dig up some video of the matches," Brooklyn helpfully told his 'family' members, pretending to be disinterested in the troubled eyes they had for Kai, when in reality, he was obsessed with the tiniest negative reactions. Kai looked back at them as if they'd each grown a few extra heads: disgusted and not a little alarmed… "It was interesting to see him drunk on power; he_ loved_ using Boris' Frankenstein," the god-bearer wistfully continued, as easily as if crazed, enraptured, blood-thirsty part-Russians were an everyday occurrence, and as certainly as somebody that believed their eyes—the Hiwatari balked that _Brooklyn _had managed to see some kind of alleged video.

"And you enjoyed ripping away the bit beasts of the other competing teams—not a moment's pause before taking your friends'. You just couldn't get_ enough_. And Suzaku… not a thought spared poor, destitute Suzaku, not then and not in_ our_ matches, so much time later. Your perpetual indifference throughout your beyblading and beast-bearing career is heart-wrenching, really." Brooklyn threw his opponent a knowing, imperious grin, egged on by Kai's utter stillness. He wanted a _reaction_. No, he wanted _tears_.

"You _sacrificed_ your sweet, pitiful phoenix to Zeus; you know that now. And you know that all along you had a deliverer ready and waiting in the wings, if only you'd bothered to exploit the advantage Boris gave you. You didn't even think of it, did you? But then, I suppose it stands to reason… You never act in the interest of anyone but yourself. Seeing that Kuro Suzaku could have fought, maybe _won_, in the place of the ill-fated original is asking for you to have a great deal more sensitivity than you've got—though it should not be _too_ much to ask from anyone honored with a bit beast's partnership.

"Can you honestly tell me that you care about Suzaku? The evidence screams otherwise. If you cared, Kuro Suzaku would have been destroyed long ago for its role in betrayal; I know it hasn't been—that much is written across your face. If you had cared in the slightest, you would not have allowed a supposedly beloved friend be so _abused_ in our battle. You _could have_ _saved_ _Suzaku_…" The young man shook his head sadly, blue-green eyes narrowed in vicious, hypercritical reflection. "Are you finally feeling guilty Kai?" Just a couple of _tears. _Come _on_.

Inexplicably taking some of Brooklyn's flippant provocation as an example, Garland was the next to take a stab at the younger boy, though in a tone noticeably disappointed, rather than gleeful. "All this time you've been letting me think that you wanted to… what, avenge Suzaku? And now it turns out that you've hurt your bit beast more than Brooklyn has, or will ever have the ability to. It's got to be worse, being misled by somebody you love than by a known opponent, from whom you'd expect no better—have you have ruined every single thing you've ever had going for you, Kai? Are you _determined_ to..? I…"

He took a step towards the frightfully tense blader stoically undergoing his interrogation, as though physically traversing the gap could aid the construction of a bridge over the mental and emotional chasm. Garland tried hard to avoid lecture mode, but failed nonetheless. "Your friends—I knew you'd mess with your old teammates, Kai, I mean, I saw it, but Suzaku? That's… that's low. A bit beast is the closest thing a beyblader can have—probably the most sacred thing a _person _can have. I just think that you're… you're lucky you've still got one at all…"

Kai stared at Garland as though he'd grown three extra heads, opening his mouth and then resolutely shutting it without a word said. These _outsiders_ had no right to speak as they did—they couldn't know what he'd felt, how he'd needed Kuro Suzaku… They couldn't fathom the reasons he had to make those choices, those incorrect, but momentarily obvious choices. Until every person had had the means to reaching their life's goals dangled in front of their faces, ripe for the easy, _easy _taking, they couldn't begin to understand—they couldn't act so righteous, as though they'd not have done the same.

It was wrong and he would never live it down and he would never forgive himself, but Kai knew why he'd destroyed… everything. Sure, in Brooklyn's words, he'd _sacrificed _the faith of his rightful phoenix, of his team. For a split second he had been on top of the world, he had been unstoppable; he had been perfect, no matter the delusion involved. Something in the boy still said that if only for that second of greatest purpose and power and detachment, void of all remorse—if only for the dark beast's lies as a reward, he would do it all over again.

He was excused, every single time, for every single thing. For no rhyme or reason, Kai was not fated to the desertion to which he so naturally condemned others. So maybe it was worth it. Maybe he wouldn't have been what he was at that moment, trapped in the kitchen, with the firebird and friends that adored him and would die for him, if not for the terrible things he had caused and endured and heard echoing in his head. How could he wish those things away now? The present was nothing without the past. And Kai was doomed to repeat the past. Garland, Kylie, Brooklyn? They had only entered a greater unknown than ever before, still seeing _nothing_.

"I don't feel any desperate need to be validated by pawns," the Hiwatari dismissively informed them, eyes bright with some façade of boldness and bitter humor. "Rest assured, Suzaku has forgiven me for all of _that—_my teammates have forgiven me. I've put the bit beast of which you so casually speak, Boris, and Russia behind me. I've moved on; your turn. Balcov is a filthy liar, and unless any of you were present at every step of the way, you have no right to speak of the tournament and the events surrounding it, pretending to be authorities, when whatever you were told… Whatever he told you is wrong, I promise. Whatever you know can't be half the case."

His crimson gaze was somehow scornful, oddly pitying… As hassled and offended as the young man felt, deep down, he was not the type to turn tail and run from a fight. The Hiwatari grit his teeth, bit the bullet, and continued to put up a brave face, reassuring himself of his superiority—at least in terms of sheer information. Kai was the expert here; he was, after all, the _problem_.

Boris, on the other hand, was a deviant at withered heart with a penchant for bending the truth into whatever form he so desired. Becoming _good_ at it, so good that even _he _believed the lies sometimes, was the first step to brainwashing an army's worth of wayward children, whom, as the dredges of society, were willing to accept anything if it sounded nicer than the hurtful realities from whence they'd come. Boris could have sold a hangman back his own noose if sufficiently motivated.

The former director and current fugitive was convincing, Kai knew, because he could tell exactly what others wanted to hear. He would have lied to Brooklyn's face about Russia, having missed the control, enjoying the influence. As intelligent as the "genius" admittedly was, he remained only a boy, on which Balcov specialized—furthermore, Kai was convinced that even if some part of Brooklyn had suspected insincerity, he would have listened regardless… It _was _the story of a lifetime. It was a weapon against an enemy. Boris had known it, giving, and Brooklyn had known it, receiving.

"You don't try very hard to clarify things for us, do you?" Kylie observed, sounding sour, but for the most part in control of her self. "If all anybody knows about you is what they see for themselves—let's just say the impression isn't great. Not having any idea of your… motives, emotions… Kai, you look like a bad person." A bad person, a petty, pointless grudge-holding person; someone she had begun to question would have any desirable influence whatsoever on her brother. Kylie looked at the seemingly smug, diffident Hiwatari doubtfully; what she had heard of him was nothing like this. A much different picture had been painted by Garland and the little amount of him she'd seen in the tournament—the boy had come across unthinkably stubborn… and incredibly strong.

In her mind he'd been full of spirit, fire tempered by unfailing focus and self control. She understood why his team had rushed to him after the fight with Brooklyn; why they loved him. And her youngest sibling, whose opinion she respected and maturity she acknowledged, had thought highly Kai. So who was _this_? This, this frightening, crazed, unreachable kind of wild animal was not the sort of thing you went around thinking highly of or loving, at least not in civilized circles. This _child _that had been overtaken by fits of violence and rage… that was apparently _constituted _of violence and rage, this was Kai?

She had allowed through the front door an entirely different young man: standoffish, but potentially likable—had it only been an agreeable doppelganger? Kylie had been trying desperately, so far unsuccessfully, to drag that young man forth once again, the one Garland respected and the G-Revolutions cared for, because _he_, she could reach. Even, even if that person was just an illusion used to get through doors and into hearts.

"Don't bother, Kylie—he thinks we're the bad guys," her brother grimly said, hands briefly curling into fists, chestnut eyes flashing. "It's because we listened to Boris though, right? You can't pretend this is about your phoenix anymore, Kai, I know it's not. Whatever pain you've felt for Suzaku's sake and've been using as an excuse is just a front. I _know _Boris disgusts you. Brooklyn was right: you two did avoid each other… and now I hear how you were acquainted. On his team twice—on the Russian team against your friends." The teenager shook his head slowly, revulsion hardening his features as it quieted his voice. Kai eyed him curiously, because Garland, for the first time in their contact, was grasping at straws.

"Did he bribe you with a shiny new bit beast, Kai? Are you that _weak_?" The C-Bolt made Kai regret his curiosity. He'd been listening too closely. He'd been hit point-blank. He was _angry_. Sensing as much, Garland quickly continued, wanting to voice his train of thought before it ran into another of the phoenix-bearer's brick walls. "You called us pawns, but you're the same. We're only guilty of wanting to be the best, to be better. Boris had everything to offer us and _we _had no reason not to believe he would help… In the end I could see it: he was bad news, he was crazy. But _you_, you knew all along. And you followed him. You betrayed all of them for him _again_, when you_ knew better_…"

Kai, appearing deeply grave in order to avoid showing just how upset he really was, stomach turning at the very concepts the Apollon blader communicated, stared blandly up through his bangs, wondering how one person could be so very wrong and so very certain at the same time. "I never did _anything _for Boris' sake." The adolescent's voice, a more reliable window to the soul than his readily deceptive ruby eyes—its very few tones directly reflecting on the very few moods he frequented,—was a passionate growl, originating from deep in his aching throat.

He was strongly insulted; not once had Kai's actions been questioned (period) in such a way that could suggest any amount of allegiance with… to… He had never done anything for Boris Balcov's sake! It had always been for himself and himself alone; not even his grandfather could have boasted of any control in Russia, and neither of the tyrannical old men exercised any at present. He would have had to have been a complete simpleton to allow them any more leverage against him than they already possessed—he was not a simpleton, and he would not be used again. Boris, for Kai, had existed as a mere stepping stone or inconvenience, interchangeably. He harbored no secret love for the director, nor did he hate him with any amount of venom; Boris did not deserve the honor of being granted one of the very few intense emotions Kai had for other human beings. He was not worth it anymore. He was not worth the young Hiwatari's spit.

"Right," Garland skeptically replied. "It's all for _you_, everything, the world… You don't care what happens do you? Just as long as you've got your means to an end." He waited for Kai to say something to the contrary. And waited. And waited. The seconds trickled by without the phoenix blader moving a muscle, blinking an eye—he hardly seemed to be breathing. He had, in fact, become fatalistic about the entire conversation, convinced now that they could not be made to comprehend even if he _had_ felt there was a need for them to. Garland became more and more crestfallen, worried that these continual stabs at the slate-haired boy's character flaws had hit something vital and shaken his reality just as much as Brooklyn's unscheduled appearance in the training room had, doing permanent damage. He hadn't wanted to _break _the beyblader, really, just provoke him out of his shell a little…

Though, in all honesty, it was a lie to say the C-Bolt wasn't currently _more_ than enough galled by Kai to have said much of what he had to him out of pure malevolence. Suddenly guilty about the way his ill-tempered counterpart had begun to resemble an abused dog and desperate to be proven wrong, to have Brooklyn _somehow _proven wrong, and a little faith in the Great Kai Hiwatari (if not all of mankind) restored, the tall, athletic young man crossed the remaining kitchen in two strides, halting in the most dangerous place he might have, a foot away from the cornered lone wolf.

"Defend yourself, Kai!" Garland commanded in his sheer frustration, seizing the boy tightly by his upper arms and shaking him, glaring into distantly curious garnet eyes obscured by a fall of thick blue-gray hair. "Tell me Brooklyn's wrong and it's not true! Don't admit to being something I know you're not!" The Hiwatari heir's nose wrinkled somewhat in distaste for equal parts the sob of the former BEGA captain's words, and the death-grip the older boy thought it wise to have on his limbs. Kai's patience for this particular game was wearing thin, and it showed in the surreptitious glower slowly turned the foreigner's way, saying, words unnecessary: 'you don't know a thing about me.'

Horrified, but bull-headed, Garland shook him a bit harder and, snarling every syllable at least as much as he cried them, continued his feverous monologue. "_Tell me_! You can't be what he says you are… A beyblader that throws off the people that care about him at every possible chance and then crawls back to them again, who—who does these terrible things without pause, without regret, who acts like he doesn't have a soul… who allows himself to be used when he knows he's being used… abandons a bit beast like Suzaku… Kai, _I know_ you have a soul." Garland was being, in a word, fierce. Perhaps if he believed these things hard enough, Kai would have to—and he would nod and smile apologetically and say it was all just a big misunderstanding. Brooke would sheepishly admit that he'd been dreaming up the whole thing. Maybe it was a great big cosmic joke. It had to be… even if it was real, it was a joke.

Still, no one could really laugh. It was too sad to laugh about. The C-Bolt rasped onwards, motivated by the heavy quiet liken to that surrounding shocked car crash witnesses. "Did I hear right? Did Brooklyn really say that you stole from the other teams back then..? That's—unbelievable. If you're a, a person that's been lying to himself, pretending everybody else is just as bad as he is so that they'll be easier to _hate… _someone that lives his life that way, doing all of it, all of what Brooke said was true… I trust Brooklyn, Kai. But if he's right and you're that person, then I don't think I can…" His imploring, searching, begging stare held its own apology. "Then I don't think that I can be your friend."

Detached and only angry towards the thunder blader in a wearied, remote sense of the emotion, Kai spent a moment examining the long, strong hands that only half-heartedly held his arms stationary before carefully moving to knock them away. "… Garland, if I can't hate Brooklyn for what he did to me a few months ago, then you _cannot _beat me up for my actions years ago. You weren't even involved." His voice was measured and frown apathetic. Kai knew he was a 'bad person' and it came as no real shock that others might pick up on it, cracking through to the surface—he'd never tried very hard to hide his true nature, and, sadly enough, here it was.

It was an unfeeling bastard with a mean streak. It was a petty, grudge-holding, pointless little kid. It was somebody that wished with all their might to forget a past their easily corruptible _true nature_ had been helpless to avoid, facing the terrible hand fate had dealt. He was volatile, obsessive, arrogant, and cruel, and yet, all of what he'd accepted, all of what he consciously dealt with was only a scratch on the surface. Kai simply knew that he was a bad person, and had never kidded himself into thinking otherwise; it came as no great shock that others, someone like Garland, might not want to be his friend. It was probably in their best interests anyhow.

The youngest C-Bolt straightened proudly out of the stoop he'd taken on when trying to get down to Kai's level, to see through his _eyes. _He hadn't been able to see a damn thing from there… it had proven a hazier vantage point than any. Stepping back in order to absorb the full image of the first person he'd ever met to simultaneously prompt the urges to embrace and strangle, Garland sought to ingrain the phoenix bearer at that grievous moment upon his memory forever. "I can't believe you didn't deny a single thing…" And he couldn't.

It had always seemed to him that Kai would fight without hesitation, would fight anyone or anything that challenged him—so why not the truth, or… Brooklyn's truth? Hadn't it hurt him, hadn't it been pushing to the surface things he would have preferred hidden? Anyone would have preferred those things hidden. So why had he refused to lash out, or at least protect himself? It must not have been a challenge after all. All that Brooklyn had revealed—had Kai agonized over it already? Until it felt natural to confront? The three perspectives attacking him in that kitchen, were they echoes of the fire blader's self-doubt? If they were anything less, Kai wouldn't have stood quietly by—if it had been news, Kai would have reacted much differently. Every word they'd uttered? A thought long past. Garland was overwhelmed by sympathy.

Kylie cleared her throat and her brother turned, jumpy, hastily blinking the glaze of unshed tears out of his eyes. Kai didn't bother looking away from the tiles he'd begun to recount. Brooklyn didn't need to see, as he knew quite clearly what was going to happen. "Alright, now _both _of you are total hypocrites," the blonde C-Bolt sighed, nursing a headache. "I need to get this straight… Kai's been claiming Brooklyn is hateable because he, A: hurt Suzaku, which apparently makes no sense—is this one of those no-one-is-allowed-to-do-that-but-me things? I hate those,—B: He got hurt—from what I've seen that's kind of to be expected these days and honestly, you don't seem like the type of guy that would be bothered, Kai,—C: This Balcov person messed with the BEGA kids, which, I guess, is _another _of those no-one-but-me things.

"Ah, and of course, D: Kai got beat, in one lousy fight, _once_... It's over! You won later anyway, so what the hell does it matter? Is that all? Did I forget anything? Kai, those reasons suck. Really. Garland, Kai's right. You _can't _preach about moving on and then hold the mistakes he made a long, long time ago against him now." The harried older sibling sunk back against a wall for support, trying to pinpoint the moment she'd gotten herself too involved to back right out again, no strings attached. Her eyes slid shut; she imagined laying on a sun-warmed deck.

As something suddenly occurred to her, Kylie opened one eye and leveled it on the handful of stubbornly indignant Hiwatari, temperamentally examining him from rigid head to toe. He looked pale, drained of most energy, and thoughtful, yet to her surprise and anxiety, the crimson gaze that compliantly locked horns with her own was as domineering and authoritative as ever, testament to the destructive will smoldering somewhere barely below the surface. Garland need not have feared for breaking him… it would take more than a few revisited nightmares to damage Kai Hiwatari. He was not fragile. He was not helpless. Even after a lengthy battle, three on one, he had retained his frustrating convictions that they had no right to know anything and he had no reason to give them anything. He had not cracked and spilt his shameful secrets across the floor for them to paw through.

At a loss, but antagonized by the tiny, triumphant smirk she had noticed ghost its way across the Hiwatari's lips while staring at him, Kylie resolved to stay put and see this through. It might be a while yet, she was well aware, but eventually Kai would have to give up something of him self—something deeper, and however she was unaware of the ambition, perhaps they were ultimately looking for what lay beneath the ash-covered fire, where sincerity might dwell. She wanted to be around to see him taken _down_. She wanted to smirk triumphantly at _him. _

She was also the only sane party left, and somehow the young lady knew they'd need some more sanity going around before the end. "But then, you haven't really claimed anything, have you, Kai? So enlighten us, we're listening," Kylie tried, supported by a collective nod of agreement. The phoenix bearer's attention flickered narrowly across their group before landing, out of necessity, on the copper-haired, blue-eyed, tickled pink genius. He felt, with some satisfaction, the dying embers of his wrath stoked to fiery life.

"What's wrong? Why do you really feel the need to throw glasses at Brooklyn?" She was without ceremony, supposing they were somewhat _beyond _ceremony—now was the time to be direct. For varying reasons, the three cohabitants of the spacious, airy house prayed, all at once, that something blunt would be able to break open the padlock barring them from Kai Hiwatari's mind and heart. Garland, for one, wanted to make certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the younger boy _did _actually have a soul… He didn't want to have shown Kai tears for nothing. A soul… Kai was interested in resolving that question as well.

_

* * *

_

_Author's Notes: _It gets deeper, and deeper, and deeper… and _heavier._ As an afterthought, sorry about all the swearing.

Astera Snape commented in a review last chapter that Kai needs psychiatric treatment. Yeah, yeah he does. The poor kid has a whole slew of defense mechanisms in place so that he won't have to confront the _real _reasons for despising Brooklyn so much – at the forefront of which are the painfully obvious repression of most of his feelings (which he's had going to varying degree during the entire show) and rationalization of the negative ones existing. Next chapter you'll get some obvious evidence of projection (if it's not there already… I think it is) and outright denial. Unfortunately, I think he's shown just how likely he is to stay in a hospital for treatment when there are really tall rocks to be climbed and beybattles to be watched.

Now, what are these real reasons, considering the other ones are more or less… lies? Wait and see. It's alarming that even when these people can drag some kind of explanation out of Kai, it _still _isn't true. I have no doubt he's believed in all of them so far, though. Crazy people don't know they're crazy. It's the same principle.

Spyrit Phoenyx, your presence is valued as always. I eagerly agree that a maternal Garland is an intriguing Garland, 'specially when ya make 'im all desperate-like. Kai would have been more violent about it if he wasn't so tired. Somehow I don't think that kind of attention is welcomed with open arms. Storm-of-insanity, The Hands of Fate and Destiny, and Demenior, thank you for taking the time to review as well; you've all no idea how encouraging it is, and I'd do more in return if life didn't keep interfering.

Brace for impact, the next chapter's gonna be a doozy.


	8. barest touch

_Barest Touch of Extended Fingertips_

_A/N: _M'sorry. For all intents and purposes, this "story" has been discontinued.

There's so much I needed to say… and the thinking about it wasn't the hard part… it was the finding a way to say it. I couldn't—make Kai into my mouth-piece. I couldn't take him so far out of character, making him break down and spill his oh-so-poetic guts across the floor and be _honest_, for once… I couldn't make Kai say these things, when he would have "hn"phed and turned away. I couldn't find a way to proceed, and to those of you who liked this thing, I apologize profusely.

At this point in time, I am simply not a good enough writer to continue. I want to try again, someday, when I feel capable. I want to standardize the style of writing—considering it changed pretty much every chapter—and make it easier to understand, less pretentious, make it more truthful… Give it a plot.

I'm proud of what it is, however incomplete. I'm glad I stayed in character and got this far. Nevertheless, this is… almost none of what I wanted to get across to you, in the end. And because I don't want to leave you guys empty-handed, and—probably pissed off—I present the following: my notes on the entire story, supplemented by quotes from _People With Wings_ and _I Hate Him_.

Some of it's been covered. What hasn't, what I wished I'd gotten to—the TRUTH— is in italics. (It makes a LOT more sense as an outline in Word, but what can ya do..?)

I hope it inspires you. Or at least amuses you.

I dedicate this chapter to people who think Kai hates Brooklyn, and want to know why.

* * *

**Reasons he knows/believes –**

**Self-preservation: he was injured in battle (shot down by Kylie); he was beaten by Brooke (Kylie shot); and emotionally**

- Resentment that only Brooklyn's _mental_ health was compromised, whereas he…

- Brooke produced fear and pain, feelings Kai had spent his life suppressing. Feelings made inescapable, in his nightmares—where he's weak. Kai was manipulated by his emotions in their fight like he was manipulated by his emotions (ambitions) in betraying his friends, all those times. _Kai is afraid of his feelings because he thinks they force him into doing terrible things—things his intellect, or at least some foresight, would prevent. So people like Brooke, with control over how he feels, can make him dangerous—and through him, hurt the ones he cares about._

_"They said it was my purpose and my destiny to be the best. And then they called him a genius as he beat me. And then they felt sorry for me that I would have died to defeat him. I would have died to kill him."_

_"I won't be pathetic in front of these people and I won't lose myself. Because I won't let anyone have the power over me that he does—making me hate him so much and act on the hate. Because I won't be controlled by my emotions like this."_

**Suzaku's destruction (Kylie shot) (hypocritical)**

- Suz was hurt by Brooke in battle, yeah, but it was because of Kai… _forcing_ him to burn out in order to win (Suzaku would die at Kai's command—he puts up with all of Kai's crap because he loves his bearer… and Kai knows it). Could he have saved Suz by using Kuro? Sure. But Kai wouldn't do that—at least not back then. He didn't know Suz would have to die; he believed he _could _win with Suzaku—he probably wouldn't even think of Kuro as a possible alternative. He's afraid of Kuro. Doesn't trust him. Kai has faith in Suzaku alone.

- Brooklyn's hurting Suzaku was in battle… and as such, it was honorable. It was brutal, like what he did to Kai, but there was no betrayal involved… Kai betrayed Suz in Russia. That's a much deeper cut to take.

- In Brooke's eyes, Kai betrayed Suz twice: by discarding him for Kuro in Russia, and by making him burn out in their fight, instead of Kuro. In Brooklyn's eyes, Kai had two chances to save Suzaku—and sacrificed him instead.

**Pawn of Boris (Kylie shot) (hypocritical)**

- Also a reason he could scorn Gar. Kai sees his actions under Boris as selfish, only for his own sake (too true); he never trusted or depended on Boris (granted, he also knew Boris was a psychopath that only wanted to use him)… he's disgusted by the BEGA kid's trust. In Gar and Brooke's eyes, however, Kai still followed Boris's orders, so he's no better.

- _But it boils down to the fact that… Kai used to be Boris's genius. And then Brooklyn was in that position. Brooke had his place at Boris's side. It wasn't a place Kai wanted, but still… 'no one but me' mentality. He felt entitled, possession of Kuro proof-positive. Brooklyn would say Kai is jealous—but really he's just irate that Brooke has a role he doesn't deserve: as the genius of BEGA—by proxy, the genius of BioVolt._

_"Master Kuro Suzaku—and no one will ever be able to touch you. You'll be the greatest beyblader that's ever come out of BioVolt."_

**Brooklyn's existence… insults him**

_- Kai hasn't dug down to this yet, though he can sense it: Kai always had to work to be the best—working towards perfection is his only real purpose. Brooklyn never worked to be called a genius—a title Kai spent his childhood striving towards. Kai has suffered and sacrificed trying to reach that end—and Brooke never did a damn thing for it. He doesn't deserve it, again, but he sure got it. The world acknowledged Brooklyn in a way they never acknowledged Kai… Brooklyn hardly had to do anything but stand there looking pretty._

_"I was genetically perfect, and one day I would be unbeatable. They told me I was a machine engineered for the sport. They told me it was my life, and no one would ever come along who could take this purpose away from me—this purpose to be perfect. And they promised me power, they promised me my perfection. They said nobody could take it away from me… and Brooklyn did."_

_"Brooklyn is no competition. He's an insult. You can't understand without knowing how Boris's brain works… Brooklyn is my successor. He's what I was meant to be, had I finished my training. Boris moving on to bigger and better things? Hardly. Brooklyn is a mere echo of Kuro Suzaku and I; a pale attempt at reaching the bar we set in Russia."_

_They're both been Boris's perfect little geniuses before._

_"So why bother hurting him? We're just back to the fact that Brooklyn's not a threat." – "Because Boris can't get away with this; because the universe can't get away with doing this to me: invalidating everything I've worked to become._

_- Brooke took Kai's purpose for perfection and identity from him without a second thought—without regard, without care… as careless as Kai treated the other bladers in Russia. It shook Kai. He'd never been hit so heavily—so derailed from his goals. He was devastated._

_- If Kai's purpose, his reason for living, can be destroyed so easily and was destroyed so readily—Brooklyn's existence in Kai's shoes and one-time position (genius of BioVolt) invalidate everything Kai might strive for in the future. What use is it to seek perfection while perfect, genius Brooklyn exists? What point is there in struggling for greatness if Kai's doppelganger Brooklyn got there without trying? Brooke makes the struggle seem pointless, the effort useless. Kai was told that if he tried a little harder he'd get there… and then he finds somebody that got there without trying at all._

_"It's like he's some horrible reminder of what it really means to be a natural, and his being in this world means they lied to me, all those years ago in Russia. His being alive means that I've always been wrong… about everything. That I have dedicated my life to nothing."_

_Including the fact that Brooklyn beat him, instead of only Tyson being capable of that. Kai dedicated his life to besting Tyson, not some random genius out of the blue._

_"I went to sleep knowing that each day of pain brought me one step closer to my destiny. After him—after Brooklyn, I was afraid that each day of pain brought me nothing."_

**Lake of fire**

- Jeeze. Probably the biggest thing EVER… It scares Kai. It scares Kai shitless. He had to dip into the fire to beat Brooke—he plunged into the flames, the emotions, to beat Brooklyn. Romero said Kai's blade feeds off of rage. If it feeds off of rage, he had to dig into some load of rage to win that battle. He had to feel some incredible negative energy… that's why I'm writing this, isn't it? To see where he was getting that negative energy? All that power?

- So the lake is where he keeps this negative energy. Where Kai keeps his reasons for hatred and the hatred itself. When Kai realized he had so much anger for Brooklyn, to use against Brooklyn, he noticed that he had the same thing for everybody he'd ever had extended contact with—some more than others, but still. Everyone. Everyone was at risk. Everyone was subject to Kai's hate, if he so wished it.

"Imagine: hate can be shelved. It had drip, drip, dipped from his first sentient year onwards; a ripple each for every wrong done to him, every disagreeable word said to him, every indifferent expression, every single annoyance, and it had formed a lake in the dark."

"The fire held his reasons: his selfish but good reasons for hating BEGA's genius, the reasons he had to hate all of them. He had plunged face-first into the flames, when in the past he had merely toed the edge, and let them eat him alive in order to defeat the undefeatable—a frozen image of Brooklyn's one-time smiling face burned into his retinas for motivation; and yet, and yet in the background, shadowy, familiar figures, each waiting to be burned into his retinas next…"

"Wasn't there a chance that he would want to defeat his friends so badly, in some way, that he would climb down to the immortal flames he hadn't been aware existed and leave all shields behind… to hurt them, to forget them, to forget everything but rage? … With this path revealed and these inhibitions illuminated for his darker side to despise and test, he was more dangerous than ever. What he had done to Brooklyn—he did not want for many others."

- The ashes above the flames are his inhibitions and the things that prevent him from acting on his hate for people, especially his friends. They obscure the reasons he has to do so. They hid the lake from him. They're so easy to brush aside—now that he knows they're there.

**The similarities**

- Uh oh… Well, uh, Kai notices the similarities only where it reinforces how dangerous Brooklyn is, and he hasn't gone very deep. In any case:

"Kai was hell-bent on thinking of Brooklyn as a monster to be loathed, not a victim best pitied. He was horrified by these bits of recovery process, a process he'd seen, one way or another, in several individuals that were _not_ his mortal enemies. Kai had nightmares about Brooklyn and his eerie presence, Kai had needed to learn and accept the value in loyalties and come to desire things beyond power… Take BEGA's genius out of the picture and it was a romanticized telling of what any of the Abbey children had gone through."

So the Abbey kids and the fact that good-Brooke had nightmares about Kai, like Kai does about Brooke. That they both had to adjust to life in similar ways.

"Kai knew all about darkness and even more about potential. He was a horrible human being with a hideous degree of depravity and malice hidden beneath a thick layer of constraint. … He felt it every day, festering. He had the potential, and so too did Brooklyn. … Some part of he and the god-bearer would always be a hazard"

"He is a tool to be used and discarded—Boris and Hiro knew it… I'll bet his unfortunate parents did as well—did you ever ask him how he ended up in Balcov's hands? My guess is they handed him over. They saw his potential, his genius."

You're right, Garland, Kai isn't an expert on Brooklyn. But he _is _an expert on himself (sort of). So was that about Brooklyn… or about Kai?

"It didn't matter what mask of decency, honor, goodness this fool's beloved prodigy wore in order to sway him and so sway the world, because monsters didn't change. Kai knew from experience… _he'd _never been able to."

-_ The duality of both Kai and Brooke: Kai in his protector/destroyer roles, Brooke in his light/dark._

_- Kai had been drawn to Kuro the same way these guys were drawn to Boris. To fulfill their ambitions and goals. He should understand, and if he did—maybe they'd understand why he had to toss Suzaku away for Kuro._

"Until every person had had the means to reaching their life's goals dangled in front of their faces, ripe for the easy, easy taking, they couldn't begin to understand."

_- They've both been taken by darkness. They're both creatures of darkness, with dark beasts that've had a say in it. Kai thinks he's better 'cause Kuro doesn't have a claim on his soul anymore (defeated in his nightmares) and Brooke is still using Zeus and associating himself with that vicious bit beast regularly. They've both been drunk on power, but Kai thinks he's better 'cause he never technically went crazy. Technically. Okay, so he was like Kuro's puppet—but he wasn't exactly flying around on gossamer wings, you know?... Nevertheless, Kai's still not better. Kuro still exists and whispers, despite it all, and Kai's still been corrupted. The potential. They've both acted on it and been taken by it—and that's the greatest similarity of all._

_- Now if only they'd realize this stuff and Kai could accept it. Because he doesn't see the similarities, he can hate in Brooke what he should hate in himself. Because Kai's worse._

* * *

**Brooklyn aside, Kai's reasons for being Gar's friend, and vice versa:**

- Kai doesn't really have a problem with Gar, besides the obvious. And he wants to be empathized with—no one has ever empathized with him because his situation is so unique. Garland can't either, but Kai still hopes. He hopes that Garland at least understands how much it hurt to face Brooklyn and lose to Brooklyn and lose Suzaku and drown and find the lake and… He can't be friends with Garland unless Gar understands how hard it was, and the gravity of what he did, sticking Kai and Brooklyn together like that again. Kai thinks Garland is too sensible not to have had a good reason.

- Gar won't hate Kai because he doesn't think it'll solve anything. He thinks there's too much hate going around. He knows that Kai shattered Brooklyn's world, but truly believes Brooke can make a full recovery and be all the better for it in the end. It worked when he fought Tyson. Gar knows Brooklyn can be brought back.

- Garland was drawn to Kai because of his delicate existence—he never knew that Kai gathers power from failure and bounces back—he doesn't know that Kai isn't as vulnerable as logic dictates he _should _be. Anyhow, Gar wants to save Kai from his own hate by making him understand Brooklyn. He's a protector (like half of Kai), that's what he does. That's what he has to do; it's his purpose. His attention might be misplaced, but it's there for Kai.

"He wanted to take care of them, make sure they were alright—he wanted to be responsible for them because they needed him to be"

- _Garland wants an equal—he saw an equal in Kai when one wasn't to be found in anybody else. Because he saw an equal, he really doesn't want to accept that Kai acts as terribly as he does. He doesn't want to believe Brooke, but because Kai doesn't deny it at all… he kind of has to. Gar's heart is breaking and he needs to find some redeeming factor in Kai; if Kai has a soul, then… he's got to have that seed of good in him. He's got to be good enough for friendship then._

"All I know is that you could be good for my brother—he needs a self-sufficient person in his life. He needs somebody that can take a little of the burden, that could understand what is it to be a team captain, to have people depending on him…"

- Gar doesn't blame Kai for attacking Brooklyn in BEGA. Just for holding onto the animosity now that the real fight is over. Kai's nature predestined their confrontation—he had to get through Brooke to face Tyson… but that's over now.

- _Kai is interested in Garland's optimism—naivety, in his eyes—in regards to Brooklyn. Gar thinks people can change and come back and be better? Kai's never thought that—he's never allowed himself that kind of hope, because it had never done him any good before. He'd always been disappointed when he expected goodness out of himself. Part of Kai really wants Garland to be right—he doesn't think Gar is, but he still wants it. If there's hope for Brooke's redemption, then there's hope for Kai's redemption. It was the hope he grabbed a hold of when he took Tyson's hand, on the ice in Russia—that he could become a better person. There have been a few setbacks since then._

* * *

**Further notes:**

- Kai supposes that is Brooke can be saved, he can be saved, because he allows that they're both monsters with deep dark potential—but he'd resist tooth and nail all the other similarities. He can't think himself Brooklyn's equal. He must think himself better than that somehow.

- _Gar doesn't realize that the only way for Kai to understand Brooklyn is to acknowledge how alike they are, and for Kai to truly look at how horrible he is himself. For some perspective, Kai would have to start thinking himself worse than Brooklyn. He IS worse than Brooklyn. But I digress…_

"He did not need to be told about mistakes or the people that he'd caused to worry—he did not need any more guilt to come from the ruinous choices he's made and would always tend to make. It was hate that gave him strength, anger that allowed him to live his life. Remorse had no place here, now, or ever. With an immense effort, the phoenix beyblader was able to sift every feeling her words brought about…"

He either converts or ignores.

_He can hate Brooke for this stuff, not himself. He can kill Brooke for this stuff, not himself. He would like to kill himself for what he's done… you know he nearly committed suicide on Baikal because he wasn't sure he could change. He's still not sure. Brooklyn became Kai's emotional doppelganger and scapegoat, so that Kai wouldn't rot from the inside out. It was just too terribly convenient._

_"When Kai thinks of you, he's just thinking of his worst parts in human shape."_

_- Kai is worse than Brooklyn in terms of actual casualties. Kai did things just to be cruel, where it was never Brooke's intention to harm—just rebuild. Kai was willingly, totally morally unacceptable, whereas Brooke never had any morals to consult or fall back on._

- Kai is disconcerted by good-Brooke, who Gar loves and has hope for and whose struggles remind him of the Abbey kid's rehab. _Good-Brooke seems too human to kill and too understandable to hate. Kai loathes bad-Brooke, pretty darn easily, and wants to convince Garland that those two sides are one in the same—that no goodness redeems the badness, the potential. Because then he can kill Brooklyn without being guilty. Kai's already killed a kid—he killed Wyatt. He doesn't want to kill another kid, but he WILL destroy a monster like bad-Brooke. If somebody says Brooklyn is a hopeless monster that can't change… if Garland says he's a hopeless monster that can't change… he'll be saying Kai is a hopeless monster that can't change. I'm sure Kai would find it reassuring. Would take it as reassurance that he's always been acting appropriatly, blotting out his guilt and emotions—but if Garland says that, it'll also slaughter whatever hope of redemption Kai has. If Gar forgives bad-Brooke because of his good… that means Kai's dark side can be redeemed too, doesn't it?_ They're the same. They're both unchangeable monsters, as Kai's admitted. _So he has to admit everything that comes along with that._

- Bad-Brooke isn't afraid of Kai, only good-Brooke is. Bad-Brooke is restrained and powerless these days, in Gar's house, so amuses himself in this situation by rescuing Brooklyn from victimization and trying to draw Kai's darkness into the public eye. To get him hated… and to make him face it. To make him miserable.

_- Kai's soul is in his light: the ashes above the fire, his guilt, his protectiveness, and his love for his friends… it's there. It's just not the dominant part of his personality._

- Because Kai broods everything to pieces, he's never surprised by anything. He's not surprised Gar would hate him if he heard the story of his past, he's not surprised Gar wouldn't want to be his friend—he's used to expecting the worst or being disappointed. He doubts and questions himself constantly, so their questions can't hurt too badly. Well, they hurt—but not because they surprise him. He's memorized his own story and own sins against others, but sees it from an outside perspective, no feelings attached. Like it's somebody else doing it. It's easier that way.

_- "He's harmless!" – "Put him in a beybattle he wants to win and tell me that again."_

_- "How could you possibly know anything?" – "Because what's in him—it's in ME! You don't move on from the terrible things you do. You don't recover from the wounds you inflict on others. You bleed to death," (some part of himself, Kai knew, was still frozen to the ice)_

_- "If you had lived one fucking half of my life, you'd know all about the dark thoughts monsters like Brooklyn and people like me pretend we don't have. That our friends pretend we don't have, wishing we were harmless." – "Kai… when you look in the mirror, do you see a person? Or just your failures?"_

_- "Brooklyn can tell the difference between friend and enemy…" – "That's comforting to hear. I must have been imagining things when I saw Moses digging himself and Ming Ming out of a pile of rubble. You know… when the BEGA stadium was flying…"_

_- "When did you become clairvoyant, Kai! How could you know what he'll become!" – "I don't care what he'll become! I'm interested in what he is." – "You've got to give people a chance to—" – "I've given chances. Ultimately they're wasted and the giver gets hurt." (Voltaire, Kane, Goki, Zeo…)_

_- "Brooklyn doesn't need your help, Garland. Not to kill me, not to save himself. He's built around saving himself and not relying on anyone."_

_- "Kai… you're so determined to see flaws, see darkness in everyone… Are you trying to drag us down to your level?"_

_- "You're alive, so obviously people have given you chances—" – "I'm alive so I can be used. I'm a coveted prize, Garland, didn't you know?"_

_- "He doesn't know what he means. He just knows it's true."_

_- "…that stupid, shut-out fight that a different me could have won in my sleep. I have won it in my sleep. I've dreamed it over and over again and known how different it would have been if I could have just—"_

_-The promise that Kai wouldn't leave unhappy… to honorable guys like Garland, a word given is everything. I'm sure Kai would like to believe him. Nevertheless…_

- Kai isn't the one you worry about. You look at Brooke, who has never, ever faltered—who has visions. Him you pity and worry about. You fear for those with the farthest to fall.

FIN


End file.
